


Healer Harry - A Fanfic

by SalTalStudios



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 88,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26024179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalTalStudios/pseuds/SalTalStudios
Summary: "Huh, not...what I was expecting."
Relationships: Gabrielle Delacour/Harry Potter
Comments: 35
Kudos: 87





	1. Harry & Gabby

Harry took a deep breath in, glanced down at his watch and then let out a discontented sigh. 

12:58 pm. 

Two minutes until he had to be at the office or Hermione’s charm would notify her that he was late coming back from lunch, again. The fact that she’d had the _gall_ to work out whatever arithmetic was needed to create it just to know whether he was on time for work was...annoyingly necessary.

Though Harry was a world-renowned healer, in both the magical and mundane worlds, he still had to suffer through the bane of his existence--clinic hours. It had been Hermione’s _brilliant_ idea. Start a jointly owned private clinic, and get the bloody hell away from the Ministry funded and poorly run St. Mungos.

After all, what was the point of being world-renowned if you got paid the _exact same_ as Dorothy Humphries, a healer so old and infirm she could barely wield her wand, let alone actually treat patients. Someone who would just limp in and lie down on the beds until the day was done!

Thus, Hermione came to him with her _fool-proof_ plan. A private _magical_ clinic wouldn’t draw enough revenue, even utilizing the Potter name. But a magical _and_ mundane clinic? That had potential.

Skip a few years ahead and the Potter Institute for Magical and Mundane Pathologies, Lurgies and Endocrinology Clinic (or as Harry affectionately liked to refer to it: The PIMMPLE) was founded. Hermione’s brainchild. Have muggle machinery but treat patients, primarily, with magic. And the muggles would be none the wiser. 

The idea had done well for them, so far. Very well.

With Hermione specializing in Endocrinology and Harry transferring his Potter luck from defying death to curing the incurable, the place had taken off. Add to that her organizational skills and Harry’s reputation in both worlds, and it had been nothing short of a smashing success. A smashing success with a single, spine-chilling drawback--clinic hours.

He was stuck between a bludger and a bat. They couldn’t leverage his fame if Harry was never in the clinic, healing patients. So it was either do the clinic hours and make money, or avoid patients and watch their revenue tank.

Four days a week. 8:00 am sharp to 2:30 in the afternoon. Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays, Harry had to be at the clinic. That was the deal, the very best he could work out in order to see the least amount of walk-ins possible. Given today was Friday, he wasn’t going to spend a _single_ extra second there. Not that he would on any other day, given a choice in the matter, but still.

At precisely two seconds to one, Harry dissaparated and arrived back in his office.

“I see we’re early again, today,” a feminine voice remarked with faint amusement.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Tracey,” he greeted, holding his arm out.

A mug of coffee was placed into his hand, and he took his first sip and ‘ _ahhed’_ before smacking his lips together. The _perfect_ drinking temperature. Not too hot, not too cold

“Perfect, as always, my dear.” Harry’s eyes met Tracey’s and he gave her a wink.

“Not your dear,” she said, Harry mouthing the words along with her.

She gave him an unimpressed look.

“So...any chance you can mark me down as sick?” He lifted his eyebrows and shot her the closest version of Lockhart’s five-time winning Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile he could manage. 

It had no effect on her. 

Tracey was definitely paid too much to give him attitude--as he liked to remind her on several occasions. But she was also startlingly efficient and effective at her job--as she liked to remind him.

“Yeah, and deal with Hermione breathing down my neck about why Healer Potter was absent, yet _again_ , under my watch? No, thank you.” Tracey shook her head and produced three files from behind her back. “Besides, I need to be on her good side. I’m asking for time off in September when she gets back from her conference.”

”Time off?”

“Couples getaway.”

Harry pretended to gag in response.

“Oh, shut up,” Tracey said, flapping the files for him to take. “One day, some unlucky girl is finally going to hold your interest, and you’ll be saying ‘Tracey said’.”

He smiled pleasantly. “Those words would never leave my mouth.”

She gave him a rude hand gesture before getting back to business. “Exam room one,” she said in that flat voice that meant she was about to drain Harry of his will to live. “We’ve got a mother and son. Snotty nosed and with a Doctor Who figurine stuck up where the sun don’t shine. I’ll give you three guesses as to where, and the first two don’t count.”

Harry grimaced. The little blighter had either stuffed it up his nasal cavity or swallowed it. It wasn’t until the teenage years when foreign objects started being shoved up holes meant for excretions and _nothing_ else.

“Behind door number two, we’ve got a lovely elderly couple. They held hands, and he opened and closed all the doors for his wife.” 

The deadpan delivery didn’t match the picture she was trying to paint, and it put Harry on edge.

“The patient behind door number three is one you might like. Blonde, large rack, but, unfortunately, with an attitude that curdles milk and a gut that is twice the size of the silicone bags they bolted onto her chest.”

Harry took a sip of his coffee.

“And behind door four is an _actual_ princess,” Tracey said. “Probably twisted her ankle when she crashed back down to reality.”

When she was finished, Tracey shoved the files towards him. Harry looked down at his mug and rocked back on his heels, placing his free hand behind his back and as far away from the files as possible. If he didn’t take them he couldn’t treat them. You couldn’t see a patient without documentation, everybody knew that.

“Take your pick. I’m going back to the front.” Tracey levitated the four files toward him this time, adding a sticking charm to boot.

Giving her an annoyed look, Harry peeled them off his chest and placed his mug of heaven onto his desk before readying himself for the monotony of dealing with patients who were severely lacking in IQ. 

He walked out into the hall and momentarily debated which door to approach first. He hadn’t even taken two steps toward the second room when Tracey popped her head back at the end of the hall and called out to him. 

“Did I forget to tell you he was holding a box of viagra the whole time?” she said, her voice floating down the corridor, full of torturous amusement.

Harry sighed before opening the door. 

As he strode inside, he saw that it was, indeed, an elderly couple, the box of viagra still clutched in the man’s hand.

“I’m Doctor Potter, it’s nice to meet you,” Harry said, trying to feign any sort of interest while keeping the grimace off his face.

He took a closer look at the balding man before him, hair on either side of his head, the left cut short while the right had grown out to a ghastly length and had been _combed over_ the rest of his hair. To what end, Harry wasn’t sure. The thin strands were full of far too much hair product and did nothing to cover the top of his scalp.

Ignoring whatever inane greeting they’d responded with, Harry got to business. “What seems to be troubling you today?”

The man glanced at the woman whose smile was all teeth, white and perfectly aligned, obviously replacements. “Well, you see, her husband passed a little over a month ago, and she wanted to _visit_ with me after _visiting_ with many other widowed men.”

This wasn’t going in a direction that was even remotely acceptable for the first patient of the day. _Merlin,_ how did Hermione keep him coming here still? No pay cheque was worth this!

“Since she introduced me to my... _little blue friend_ , I’ve been standing at attention for _hours!_ ” The glee in Pill Popper’s voice made Harry involuntary shudder. “She’s been with Keith, David, Frederick, Richard and William, and I just want to make sure that I don’t catch the same STDs as them.”

Harry blinked. Then blinked again. 

Five. There were five names, and if he’d heard correctly, that was only in the last five weeks!

“I know with the Herpes, we can’t do anything _down there_ until the symptoms go away, but can I still get it if she only uses her mouth on me?”

Harry’s eyes slid over to the woman he’d just been told had an STD. Her wrinkled face didn’t appear to be put out by any of this, and when he caught her eye she gave him a smile that was all gums.

“I wouldn’t mind if you took a turn with her, Doctor, if you wanted it, that is. Between me and you, that mouth of hers is experienced _and_ talented!” Pill Popper shot him a perverse grin, gave him an exaggerated wink and swung his arm up in a ‘jolly good’ motion.

Harry had gagged at the smile, but now he could taste the bile in the back of his mouth from the man’s words. He hadn’t even finished his coffee yet and this greasy old codger was pimping out a woman old enough to be his grandmother.

xxx

Gabrielle sighed as she squinted down at the sheet of paper in her hand before glancing back up at the building before her with her eyebrows furrowed.

_The Potter Institute for Mundane Pathologies, Lurgies, and Endocrinology._

She waited a few seconds--per the illegible instructions on her slip of paper--before a second door appeared in the brick wall. 

_Wizard Entrance._

Gabrielle looked up once more to find the word ‘Magical’ slowly protruding from the bricks, nudging ‘for’ and ‘Mundane’ aside with an audible _clink clink._

She took in a deep breath and pulled open the door.

The waiting room was relatively sparse when she entered, a clerk sitting behind the desk, head down and quill scratching furiously. 

“Take a number.”

Gabrielle’s eyes flitted to her in surprise. “Pardon?”

The woman looked up and pointed to a small pad in front of her. “Take a number,” she said slowly this time as though mocking her. 

With a frown, Gabrielle ripped off a sheet of paper. “My name is--”

“Fill that out,” the woman said, cutting her off.

Gabrielle turned to where she was pointing and saw a clipboard floating towards her. “Right,” she said, feeling more annoyed by the second. “Thank you.”

If this was how patients were treated at the top clinic in the country, Gabrielle shuddered to think of the poor souls at St. Mungos. 

xxx

The door clicked shut behind him and Harry exhaled in relief as the horrid encounter was finally over. The Pill Popper pimp had been dealt with. Now it was Tracey’s problem. She could fill their orders and take payment.

_Should have included a side order for a twenty minute obliviation for himself_ , _too_ , he mused.

Mentally debating between the remaining doors, Harry closed his eyes and tried to decide which patient would be less annoying. Silicone Chest or a snivelling little snot and his overbearing mother. There was no reason for either of them to be at his clinic.

He was _the_ doctor people called upon when no other specialist could figure out what was bloody well wrong with you. But here he was instead, Healer Harry Potter, stuck fixing snivelling noses on wimpy little boys whose hovering mothers had already checked Dr. Google ahead of time and had determined that a tiny toy that had gone no deeper than the nasal cavity, had somehow, miraculously, led to cancer and three ( _three!_ ) different auto-immune diseases!

Harry sighed and pushed open the door.

xxx

Slouching back against her chair, Gabby let her eyes wander around the waiting room. There were two other patients in line before her. A man, who by the looks of things, had been involved in a rather awful splinching accident--at least, she assumed that was the case considering his foot was in his lap rather than attached to the end of his leg. 

And a young girl, Hogwarts age, legs crossed and foot bouncing in the air as she stared around the room. 

Their eyes met for a moment, and Gabby smiled politely at her. 

xxx

“Right, what’s wrong with you, then?”

“Excuse me?” Silicone Chest said, sounding highly offended.

“You’re excused.” Glancing up from the clipboard where Tracey had drawn a crude stick figure with massive melons located at chest height, he asked again, “What’s wrong with you, then?”

“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?!”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have eyes?”

“Yes.”

“Are they working?”

“Yes.

“Read the name tag,” he said, tapping it with his finger, twice, “and then either tell me what’s wrong with you or get out of my clinic. I’ve plenty of patients to treat who need something more from me than wasting my far-too-valuable-to-be-spent-on-the-likes-of-you time.”

xxx

Gabby didn’t know when or how it happened, but when she looked up from the magazine she’d been flipping through, she found the young girl had migrated over to the chair next to her. 

“All right?” Gabby said, greeting her with a nod. 

“Wonderful,” the girl said with a bright smile. “You?”

“Er...I’m well, thanks,” Gabby said, before looking back down at her magazine. 

A few seconds of silence passed by. 

“So, he’s really in there, is he?”

Gabby looked up again. “Sorry, what?”

The girl bit her lip, a blush coloring her cheeks. “Harry Potter,” she whispered loudly, leaning in to grab Gabby’s arm. “Like _the_ Harry Potter.”

“The Harry Potter, indeed,” Gabby said, flipping through another page. 

“My friend Lucy claims she saw him in person once,” the girl said, fingers biting quite painfully into Gabby’s arm, now. “That he was even better looking than in the photographs--which, like, _how,_ you know? And she got _so_ jealous when I told her that I landed an appointment with him--which I totally need, by the way, that’s not even a lie. Even though Mum and Dad _totally_ thought I was lying, and it was so bloody hard to convince them, but like why would I lie about something like that, you know? Sometimes they can be _so_ ridiculous. And don’t even get me started on…”

xxx

“Are you this rude to all your patients?”

“Do you deliberately not answer questions?” Harry dryly retorted. “Or shall I just guess why you’re in my office bothering me in the first place?”

“I’ll be making a complaint to your manager about this,” Silicone Chest said, vitriol in her voice as she flipped her hair out of her face.

Harry gave her a winning smile and withdrew a business card from his coat pocket. “This is my manager, Hermione Granger’s, cell phone, home phone, work email and personal email. In total, there are seven ways of contacting her. Please be sure to try _every_ single one of them.”

He handed her the card and then proceeded to ask the same question for the fourth time, “Right, what’s wrong with you, then?”

Silicone Chest rolled her eyes before inhaling deeply, as though preparing to assault Harry with a bout of verbal diarrhea. “So, it started like this...Jimmy got home after he’d been down at the pub with Johnny--the two-timing bastard who slept with Stephanie while he was still with Wanda--Wanda who’s Stephanie’s aunt’s cousin’s younger brother’s former uni dormmate’s best friend, innit? And anyway, so he comes back, yeah? And he calls me fat! Fat! _Me!_ Can you bloody well believe that?!” Silicone Chest asked, clenching the sides of her protruding tummy.

Harry took a meaningful glance down at the woman’s stomach rolls that were visible through her tight shirt.

“And you’re...not?”

“No!” she exclaimed, scandalized. “I’m bloody pregnant!”

xxx

“...and you wouldn’t _believe_ the story Lucy overheard Derek say while she was--”

“Carla Finkle?”

Carla paused mid sentence and looked up to see the clerk holding out her clipboard. “Ooh, that’s me!” she said, standing up like a spring. 

Gabby said a silent prayer of relief. 

“Wish me luck, Gabs,” Carla said, giving her two thumbs up before glancing at her reflection in the window and fixing her hair a bit. 

“Finkle!” the clerk practically shouted. 

“Coming, coming!”

xxx

“You’ve tinkled on the stick, and it came back with two lines, then?”

“Well, no…”

“You didn’t?”

“No, why would I need to? Have you seen me?” Silicone Chest asked, jutting out her chest and running her hand down her body as if she were showing off the latest super car. “I had lipo done last year, my lips are being done next month, and I already had my botox done this week!”

Harry placed the clipboard on the desk, dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

xxx

“Will he be much longer, do you think?” the one-footed man asked aloud after several more minutes had passed. 

Gabby frowned at him in sympathy.

“Only, it’s, er...starting to hurt a bit again, isn’t it?” the man said. 

The clerk looked up at him with one eyebrow raised. “Perhaps you should have thought about that before apparating halfway across the continent like a bloody half-wit.”

Gabby’s mouth fell open as she stared between the two. “Oi!” she said. “You can’t talk to him like that!”

“Oh, dear,” the woman said, voice monotone. “However will I live with myself?”

xxx

“Huh, would you look at that…” Harry said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “If I ignored the ballerina get-up, you might actually look like a princess.”

Princess Pansy glanced up at him shyly. “I twisted both my ankles and then sprained them last night. The trainer tried to fix me, but…” She gestured at her swollen ankles.

Harry frowned as he began to heal them. “Are those not natural cankles?”

She didn’t respond. Whether it was out of annoyance or out of concentration on Harry’s wand movements, he couldn’t be sure. 

“Must not be very good, those trainers of yours,” he mused. “Only two-bit healers wouldn’t be able to sort this out, themselves.”

“I’m Natalia Pavlova, the starring performer for Madame Lacroi-”

Harry raised his free hand. “Don’t care.”

Pansy Princess glared at him, the effect of which was equivalent to glaring at a rock.

Harry finished fixing her up and turned to leave. “If you wanted to try and get me to show up at your little second-rate performance, yo-”

This time she cut him off. “That’s not it, at al-”

“Again, don’t care.” Harry stepped out and shut the door.

xxx

Gabby watched a pretty brunette come out and pause to speak with the clerk before letting out a huff and walking towards the exit, as though changing her mind. 

The clerk hadn’t even bothered to look up from her work. But when the young woman walked past her, Gabrielle couldn’t help but clasp her hand over her mouth. 

That was Natalia Pavlova, the dancing phenom that had taken the ballet world by storm.

Gabby watched her step out the door before turning to see the clerk’s head lifting up and watching Natalia leave as well.

“Another satisfied customer, I see,” Gabby heard her murmur.

xxx

“And how can I help you today?”

“Not me. My _son_.”

“Right, well…” Harry let his word hang and hoped he didn’t have to continue, but of course he did. “What’s wrong with him, then?”

“He doesn’t listen,” Overly Anxious remarked snidely, her upper lip curling.

“Is he as mute as he is deaf, then?” he asked, reaching forward and jabbing the end of his pen into the boy’s thigh.

“Ow! Whatcha do that for?!”

“Not mute. Just deaf?” Harry looked back to Overly Anxious and tilted his head.

“He’s not deaf, he just doesn’t listen!” the woman exclaimed in outrage.

“Right, if it’s not his hearing or his speech, then what’s wrong with him?”

xxx

“It’s all right,” Gabby said, patting the man’s knee in comfort. “I’m sure it won’t be much longer.”

“That’s your hand on my foot,” the man said, gesturing to where she’d just grazed his toe.

Gabby shot her arm back and giggled nervously before returning to her seat in a hurry. 

xxx

Harry stood up from his seat and made his way over to a jar containing lollies for pediatric patients. He removed the lid and plucked one he’d been mentally debating eating since he came into the room.

“Are you even listening to me?!?”

“No,” Harry said. “But if you plan to answer my question and tell me what’s wrong with your son, then I might.”

He wouldn’t. But Overly Anxious didn’t need to know that. The diagnostic charm he performed while he had his back turned made it pretty clear that a toy was stuck so far up the boy's nose, the Doctor would have better luck finding Gallifrey. 

xxx

“Gordan Ruggle?” 

“Ah, yes,” the man said, raising his hand before attempting to stand up. He wobbled a bit on one foot, holding his other beneath his armpit so that the toes stuck out towards Gabby and wiggled at her as he made his way towards the front desk. 

xxx

After having been irritated enough by Overly Anxious, Harry buggered off, making some excuse about needing to find longer pliers while simultaneously letting them stew over the fact that he needed to find longer pliers. That would be comeuppance enough for talking his ear off.

Tracey would have already filled both exam rooms, so he grabbed the chart off the wall and let out a contented breath that it was a magical patient. At least he could use his wand indiscriminately.

Harry pulled the door handle down and opened it. Upon seeing the preteen, Hogwarts-aged pubescent girl on the bed, however, he instantly grew worried.

Stepping through the door, his worst fears were confirmed.

“Squeeeeeeee! You’re Harry P- P- P- Potter! Merlin and Morgana be blessed!” Fawning Fanny squealed, her hands clasping her face. “I’ve loved you ever since I was a little girl!! I have your pictures _everywhe_ -”

Harry slammed the door, locked it, and activated the portkey function, sending the girl to St. Mungos. 

He shook his head. That was the third one this month, already.

xxx

"Well," Gabby heard the clerk mutter to herself. "That's that patient discharged."

xxx

After he’d crossed the hall, Harry had entered his second room. He hadn’t needed a diagnostic charm to diagnose Monopod Man.

“Let me get this straight. You misplaced your wand after splinching yourself, and then walked on foot--without a foot--in order to come to this clinic?”

“Sounds like it, yeah.”

Harry summoned a form from the desk and quickly filled out the appropriate boxes.

“Right, take this to the Ministry and see if they can sort you out.”

“Thanks, Healer Potter,” Monopod Moron said graciously, taking the form and giving it a quick perusal as he started walking out the door.

“Hey, you sent me to the wrong department!”

“Hmm?” Harry replied, not bothering to look up as he updated the patient chart.

“They only deal with magical creatures there, not proper wizards like me!” Monopod Moron cried out indignantly, holding the form up over his head.

“The Ministry still defines magical creatures as those with wizard intelligence but the inability to use a wand. I thought it fit you perfectly.”

xxx

“Bloody wanker!” Gordan Ruggle said, storming towards the exit as best he could with one foot still detached from his body. 

“Thank you for visiting PIMMPLE, we hope to never see you again soon,” the woman at the front desk called behind him, face set in a sugary sweet smile. 

Gabby pursed her lips, growing more and more weary by the second.

xxx

Harry brandished the extra long pliers and pointed them at Overly Anxious. “Right. You, out. Go to the waiting room while I pull you-know-Who from you-know-where.”

After a few feeble protests, she made her way out. 

The wandless compulsion charm _may_ have had something to do with it.

Harry put one arm on Snivelling Snot while snapping his wand up into his opposite hand, quickly stunning him. Sleight of hand had been necessary while learning to treat muggles with magic. 

Three charms would do the trick. One to summon the toy, one to repair the tissue damage, and one to cleanse old Doctor Who from his journey to Mucus Major. 

Harry placed the ten inch pliers beside the Snivelling Snot’s nose and woke him up.

The kid’s eyes bulged comically. He tried to back away but ended up tumbling right off the table.

Harry paid little attention to the fallen boy. His eyes drawn, instead, to the prize that had been left on the examination table. There, in all of its silver glory, was a Gameboy Advance SP. 

Harry deftly plucked it off the bed and checked what game was set into it.

“Hey kid,” he said over his shoulder. “How’d you like to make a crisp £20?”

The mention of money got the Snivelling Snot off the ground fast. “How?” he demanded, holding a hand over his nose, full attention on Harry.

“I’ve got…” Harry checked the watch on his wrist, “one hour and seven minutes until I’m off. You sit in here and let me play your Advance SP, and I’ll slip you a cool £20.”

“£100, you just stuck pliers up my nose!”

“£40, you’re the one that shoved an action figure up there!”

“Yeah? What do you think got me that Super Mario 3 in the first place?” Snivelling Snot said, arms crossed. “I ain’t stupid, you know. I did it on a dare for the game!”

Damn. Harry could respect that. “Fine,” he said begrudgingly. “We’ll call it £60.”

“£100, or I scream and yell until Mum and everyone else in this place comes running back in here,” Bad-Faith Bargainer countered.

“£80, and you can eat as many lollies as you want.”

“£100! C’mon man, you’re a doctor! I know you’ve got cash to burn.”

Harry grumbled under his breath and checked his wallet. £100 it was. Stupid Bad-Faith Bargainer. “Fine. But you don’t get a single pound of it if we get caught.”

xxx

Gabby stared down at her watch and sighed. 

xxx

“Eighteen minutes?! Five minutes slower than that fat bastard?! Not. Possible.”

“Can you keep it down? I don’t get paid if you shout and get us caught, remember?”

Harry glared at Snivelling Snot.

“Plus, I told you,” the boy said through a mouthful of red lolly, “you were too slow at the start.”

xxx

“Pardon,” Gabrielle said, the word sounding more French to her ears than English. 

Fleur always liked to joke when they were younger that it was the first sign of an impending Gabby-fit. And at twenty-four, she was slightly ashamed to admit she hadn’t quite grown out of that habit yet.

“Oui?” the woman at the front desk responded, somehow managing to sound sarcastic even through a one-syllable word. 

Gabby ignored her. “Will Healer Potter be much longer?” she said. “It’s been about an hour now.”

“Healer Potter is unfortunately very busy at the moment, but your name _will_ be called when he’s ready,” the woman said as though reading from a script. “Please feel free to peruse the entertainment provided on the tables in the seating area. And thank you _so much_ for your patience.”

Gabby clenched her teeth. “J'en ai ras le bol,” she muttered before returning to her seat. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just have a seat Frenchie,” the woman said with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

xxx

“Hah! Sixteen minutes! I’ll catch you yet, Dudders!”

Sweet-Tooth Snot shushed Harry aggressively as he sucked on his ninth lolly, glancing at the door and hoping no one would come barging in looking for the man that was currently engrossed in playing his Gameboy.

xxx

"Right, this is getting ridiculous," Gabrielle said, planting herself in front of the clerk's desk with her arms crossed. "What kind of service is this? What if I were dying?"

Tracey Davis--Gabby had stared burning holes into the woman's nameplate for the past 15 minutes--looked up at her with one eyebrow raised.

"Are you?"

"What?"

"Dying?" Davis said.

Gabby spluttered for a moment. "Well I dunno, I could be!" she said. "I haven't seen a healer yet, have I? And what the hell is he even doing, this place is empty."

"There's a muggle entrance, as well."

She clicked her tongue but had no response to that.

"You know what? I'm leaving," Gabby said, grabbing her things in a huff. "And I'm taking my business to St. Mungo’s."

"Oh, no," Davis said, elongating the word and pretending to look upset.

Gabby rolled her eyes and turned to open the door with all the strength she had, only to smack the metal of her purse against her forehead when the door wouldn't give.

" _Merde,"_ she said, wincing as she placed a hand against her head.

"It's a push," Davis said unhelpfully. "Not a pull."

With a glare in the woman's direction, Gabby pushed the door open and let it slam behind her.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Harry took a graceful step out of the floo and looked around to find an empty sitting room. It had been a few weeks since he’d made it to Sunday tea at the Burrow and Molly had threatened unspeakable things if he didn’t show his face today. The fact that he'd been busy presenting the major advance he’d pioneered in diagnostic medicine in Tokyo, Chicago, and Johannesburg the previous three Sundays was of little importance.

But no matter. He hadn't had a good meal in ages and restaurant food, no matter how expensive, wasn’t nearly as good as a home cooked meal.

“Harry? Is that you, dear?” Molly called, turning her head as he entered the kitchen. 

“In the flesh,” Harry said, wincing a bit as she drew him in for a rib-crushing hug.

She mercifully let go after a several seconds and held him at arms length to get a good look at him. “Even thinner than last time,” she said, tutting quietly and shaking her head. “Go on out back, everyone’s in the garden. Dinner will be out in a bit.”

“Can I help?”

“With food, no. Showing up to Ginny’s wedding and sitting with the family, yes.”

Harry fought the urge to groan. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world," he responded, smiling blandly. Or for the ICW committee meeting that he was chairing that he’d had booked for two years now. But that was fine. He’d rebook. 

“Oh, I’m so glad to hear that, Harry. You know it’ll mean the world to her,” Molly said, with a warm smile.

Harry very much doubted that, but he returned the smile regardless. 

“Now, go, go. _Eat._ Get out of my sight!” Molly said, nudging him out the door.

Harry stumbled out into the garden, the door closing behind him with a decisive _click._ He righted himself before stuffing his hands in his pockets and making his way over to the tables set up outside in the lovely weather. 

Ginny’s voice floated through the air, no doubt prattling on about her ‘Wedding of the Century’. Superstar Holyhead Harpies Chaser, Ginny Weasley, and Bighead Boy. Or, Harry thought, perhaps Bighead Garçon--cédille included--would be more appropriate. The Frenchman always did look sensationally sumptuous.

“It was difficult enough picking the bridesmaid’s dresses with all the different complexions and hair colours. We’re having them hand-tailored in Spain with the material being imported from Italy. You’re going to absolutely _gush_ over them, they ar-”

“Afternoon, Weasleys,” Harry said, flicking Ron behind the ear and tugging lightly on Ginny’s ponytail, earning an elbow in the stomach and an ‘ _arse!’_ in return. 

“The man of the hour!” George said, spreading his arms wide, eyes dancing with mirth. “You picked a wonderful day to join us.”

“Yes, let’s all pay attention to Harry, now. What else is new?” Ginny muttered under her breath.

“Every day I join you is wonderful,” Harry said, ignoring her as he took a seat. 

“Is it, Harry? _Is it?_ ”

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise as he turned to look at Fleur. Her face was set in an uncharacteristic scowl, eyes practically burning. 

“Blimey...what’s got your feathers ruffled?” Harry said, grabbing a roll off the table. 

Bill set a calming hand on Fleur’s arm that did absolutely nothing to soften the daggers she was shooting Harry’s way. 

"I had a word with Gabrielle yesterday," Fleur said, her jaw tight.

"Er…" Harry said, looking around the table to make sure she was addressing him. "Congratulations?"

She clicked her tongue loudly. “Mon Dieu...you don't even care, do you?" she said, a mix of wonder and disgust in her voice. 

Well...mostly disgust.

Harry looked around once again in confusion. He caught George’s eye and was annoyed to find him biting back a laugh. “Sorry,” he said to Fleur. “But...what exactly should I be caring about?”

Fleur smacked a hand against the table causing several others to jump. “My sister!” she said through a hiss. “The sister that came to _you_ in need, but who you completely ignored because you are an absolute _knot face_!”

Harry scrunched his forehead in a frown. “A what, now?”

“Dickhead,” Bill said while Fleur seethed beside him. “It...gets lost in translation a bit.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. 

“ _That’s_ what you got out of that?” Ginny said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Did you not hear her? You completely stood Gabby up at the clinic. She was waiting to be seen for hours, according to Fleur.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Harry said, putting his hands up in defense. “Not my fault. I can’t control how many patients I’ll be seeing in a day. If it was an emergency Tracey would have bumped her up the list.”

“Oh, like you couldn’t bump her up the list yourself,” Fleur said, crossing her arms. “She’s family. I thought that might mean something to you, but apparently I was wrong.”

“I didn’t even know she was in the waiting room!” Harry said.

“She said your clerk was completely unprofessional and rude! Passed right over her, on purpose, I bet!”

“Now that’s unfair,” Harry said, shaking his head at her. “Tracey’s also efficient. She hates when people forget that.”

Fleur let out a squawk of frustration. “Is this how you run a clinic?” she said, her accent getting thicker by the second. “What kind of healer--”

“Harry,” said multiple voices at once. 

“ _What_?” Fleur said, staring around at all of them.

“You asked the question. And the answer is Harry. The answer is always Harry,” Ron said with a tired expression. 

Harry nodded in agreement. 

“Why does Hermione have premature grey hairs?” Ron said. 

“Harry,” George said. 

“Why did that woman leave the clinic in tears?”

“Harry,” Ginny said. 

“Why is that man swearing up a storm?”

“Harry,” Bill said. 

“I’m somewhat of an arse,” Harry said.

Fleur pursed her lips in disapproval. “Well then you admit you’re in the wrong here,” she said. “You could have seen Gabby.”

“I could’ve done a lot of things,” Harry said with a nod. “Seeing Gabby would’ve been very far down on that list, I’m afraid--no offense intended--”

“Offense taken.”

“But no matter,” Harry said, ignoring her. “I’ll tell you what. Send her over to my office on Monday, and I _promise_ I’ll make her my top priority.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Take a number.”

Gabrielle’s eyes flitted to the same clerk she’d seen last time she was here. 

“No, I’m here to see Harry Potter.”

“Yeah, you and everyone else that walks through those doors.” The woman gave her a condescending look. “Take a number,” she repeated, pointing at the small pad in front of her.

With a frown, Gabrielle persisted. “No, you don’t understand. I’m actually a friend of Harry’s. My sister told me he’d see me.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” the woman placated her. “Just take a number, and you’ll be able to see your brother’s best friend soon enough.”

“ _Sister’s_ ,” Gabrielle said as she snatched a number, huffing a breath out her nose.

“Fill that out, too,” the woman said, floating a clipboard to her so that it bumped into her shoulder.

Gabrielle turned to see a very familiar form. “I filled this out last time, can’t you just use that?”

“No,” the woman responded without even looking up from her work.

Gabby clenched and then unclenched her fist. Fleur promised her that Harry would see her this time. So she’d just have to grin and bear this _indignity_.

Throwing one last glare at the clerk, Gabby turned and stomped over to take a seat. She proceeded to fill out the _same form_ as last time. She would complete it and then keep her head down until her name was called.

xxx

The door of the patient room Gabby had _finally_ been called into opened. 

Messy black hair, piercing green eyes and a white coat left no room for doubt that this was the man she’d been waiting to see.

“Right, what’s wrong with you then?” he asked, not even glancing up at her.

“Hi, Harry,” Gabrielle said softly. It’d been a long time since they’d last seen each other. If it weren’t for the fact that he was possibly the only healer who could help her, who knew how much time would have passed before they’d run into each other again.

Harry looked up at her and then glanced back down at her file. “Delacour...Gabrielle.” He looked up at her, once again, and then blinked, twice. “Right. Fleur had mentioned you might come in.”

“I came in once last week, but the clinic closed before I had a chance to see you.”

Harry shrugged. “That happens.” 

He clearly wasn’t bothered by how things were run here.

“Well, it’s been some time since that blasted tournament,” Harry said.

“It has been, yeah,” she said, a bit awkwardly. “There was also Bill and Fleur’s wedding.”

Harry hummed in response. “I was polyjuiced for that.”

“We arrived at the Burrow a few days earlier, though. I saw you, then,” Gabby said before mentally cursing herself for sounding like a stalker. 

She’d had a bit of crush, all right? She wasn’t too big to admit that. And though Harry had only grown more attractive with age, she wasn’t the same fawning little girl she used to be.

“Well, what brings you across the Channel?” 

Gabrielle shifted her gaze away from him, absently playing with a strand of her hair. “Right, so, erm….well, it sounds like nothing, but--look, just _please_ , hear me out.”

She looked back up to find Harry's piercing eyes already on her. And after what felt like a minute, but could have only been a few seconds, he gave her a slight nod.

Harry placed the file down on the desk then, giving her his full attention.

“Okay. Er...well…”

“Just relax. Take a breath and then try again,” Harry said in a gentle voice, attempting to reassure her. 

Gabby dropped her head and stared into her lap. It was never easy bringing up something like this. Especially considering the various negative reactions she'd received in the past.

“Look, if your problems are down there,” he said, his eyes shifting down her body, “I can have Hermione see you, and I'll just consult.”

Mortified, Gabby felt her face heat up. She spluttered out a quick denial, “No! It’s not that!” she said, embarrassed at the notion. “I’ve never even done that.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Saving yourself for someone special then, eh? Not the way I’d go, but I can respect that.”

She froze at his words, feeling her eyes grow wide. “No, no! It’s not like that either, it’s-- _argh_ !” She couldn’t stand it any longer. Years of frustration were finally boiling over. “Look, I’ve tried, okay? But I c-can’t! Every time I go to...start things... _something_ happens!” 

Harry nodded slowly. “While I am a Healer, I specialize in diagnostic medicine. If you’re not sure you like men, you can try women. Our culture has progressed these last few decades, you know…perhaps talk to Fleur or your mum about it?”

“I’m not gay!” she burst out, glaring at him to make herself abundantly clear. “I. Like. Men.” 

Harry shrugged and gave her an apathetic look. “You like men and you’re gorgeous. I’m not sure I understand what you need from me. If your parents didn’t give you the little witches and wizards chat, then I’m sure Fleur could--or, Merlin forbid, Molly...”

Gabby didn’t even want to picture that horrific scenario. Instead, her glare intensified. “I _know_ how to do it. Just, every time I try... _something_ happens.”

“Well...yes. Something is supposed to happen,” Harry said. “That’s sort of the point, isn’t it?”

“No, I meant--” Gabby said before cutting off and letting out a small groan. “Nothing happens because of _something.”_

Harry lifted his eyebrows, idly tapping his foot, but remaining otherwise silent. Then he paused and spoke again. “Well, if the problem is more between the ears, then seeing someone that specializes in mind healing would be your best bet, not me,” Harry said in that same gentle tone he’d used earlier.

She let out a withering sigh. “It’s not that either. It’s...just...look, I’ll tell you what happened, okay?”

Harry held her stare and then indicated she should do so.

“Right, so the first time I tried to...you know...we were in my private room. We’d never really done anything before, but I was about to graduate and it just seemed like the right time to lose… it.” She couldn’t help the blush that came over her face. Harry might be a healer, but he was still _Harry Potter._ There probably wasn’t a girl in her age group that hadn’t fantasized about him at some point, and he hadn’t saved any of _them_ from dark black lakes when they were children. Sure, she was never actually in danger, but...still.

“I told him to take my dress off,” Gabby said before pausing. _Merde_ , this was so embarrassing to retell again, but she steeled herself, anyway. This was her best shot at getting whatever was wrong with her fixed. “I’m not sure exactly what happened…but I heard a crash and, _somehow_ , he’d tripped while getting undressed and managed to knock himself out by crashing his head into the bedpost.” It had been terrible. She’d been all hot and bothered, ready to become a woman, and her boyfriend was lying on the floor, bleeding from his head.

Harry, the consummate professional, merely dipped his chin in acknowledgement of her words. He didn’t laugh at her like all her friends and family had when she’d eventually confessed her story to them while drinking. And she was grateful to him for that. It spurred her on to continue.

“The second time I tried to give it a go, my date was unbuttoning my top, and--Merlin, you won’t believe this,” she said, hiding her face in her hands for a couple seconds. “He, uhm, was too _eager_ , I guess. And, _somehow_ , a button popped off my shirt and flew right into his gaping mouth…”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well, that shouldn’t have put a stop to things, surely? He could have just spat it out,” he said rationally, echoing a similar sentiment that had been shared by Fleur when she’d heard the story.

Gabby shook her head vigorously. “When I say it flew into his mouth, I mean it shot down his throat and got stuck there. He had to be rushed to hospital.”

“And there are more stories like this?” Harry asked patiently, giving Gabby hope that he might actually believe her.

“Yes. One time I was running up the stairs of my family’s home, racing ahead of the guy I was with. I slipped my bra off and threw it behind me...I was only trying to entice him! I thought he might catch it or at the very least step around it…but, _somehow_ , he didn’t even see it.” At this point, she let out a shaky breath. So many close calls with nothing to show for them. She dropped her head into her hands again. “He ended up stepping on it which caused him to lose his footing and tumble down two flights of _marble_ stairs.” 

She lifted her still blushing face up and looked at Harry, his own expression stoic.

“And this happens, _every_ time?” he asked. 

Gabrielle heard what she thought was mild skepticism creeping into his voice.

Yes!” She crossed her arms over her chest. “From seventeen to twenty-four! No matter who I’ve tried to do the deed with, or how I’ve gone about it, I just can’t lose my virginity!” 

Gabby could feel her heart beating in her chest, her breathing becoming slightly elevated. It was all so infuriating! She felt like she was going _crazy_!

She watched as Harry tapped his forefinger to his stubble-less chin. “It sounds like you’ve been cursed,” he said. “Or given something that was cursed.”

“Non. Bill and Fleur have already checked. They’ve spent hours, days, weeks, on and off for the past few years, trying to help me put an end to this.”

Harry pursed his lips in thought. “Just so we’re clear--and I don’t think this is the case, but you can never be sure when you’re a friend of George--if this is a prank, I want you to know that my vengeance will be swift and brutal.” 

Gabrielle couldn’t help the shiver that went down her spine. For just a moment she’d been able to see a glimpse of the man that had ended an entire war at seventeen. 

“I- It’s not.”

“I didn’t think so, but it definitely sounds like something a Weasley might come up with,” Harry said, his tone returning back to normal.

“I’m not making this up, nobody’s putting me up to this. I...I just want it to stop.” 

She’d reached the end of her line, having gone through so much already to try and find an answer. Harry was the last option she had.

She only hoped he’d come through and be the one to save her once again.

“I’ll have to write this all down in your chart,” Harry said, picking it up. “Including my initial conclusions from our first diagnostic interview.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, almost cringing at the hope blossoming in her chest. “And what have you concluded?”

If she hadn’t been watching him so closely she might have missed the fraction of a second that the corners of his mouth twitched. “That you want me to help you get laid.” 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was a bright August day, the weather mild, the sky clear, the Quidditch conditions absolutely perfect. Harry settled into his seat and threw his legs up on the bar in front of him, turning to flash a smile at his date. 

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a Harpies fan,” she said.

"M'not," he said with a shrug, taking a bite out of his meat pie. "I don't follow anyone. Not worth my time."

His date raised an eyebrow at him. 

Kristen, Kirsten, Crystal, Krista. 

_Long Fingers._

The woman had abnormally long fingers.

Great teeth, as well. But unfortunately that moniker had already been assigned to Great Teeth who’d dumped him last week after he'd accidentally revealed her false parentage to her. As though it were his fault she'd brought up the topic of blood types on their first date. 

Two O's with an AB child? A five year old could've worked that Punnett Square out.

"Then why'd you pick this match?" Long Fingers said, bringing him back to the present.

Harry held up a finger of his own as he swallowed. "Got a friend on the team," he said. "She owed me a favour."

Long Fingers raised her eyebrow even higher. "Right, like Harry Potter can't get tickets on his own?"

"Ginny doesn't like me at the matches," Harry said. "Claims I steal the attention away from everyone."

Which was fair enough. 

"And if I'm going to come to a Quidditch match, it's going to be in the family box. Best seats in the stadium," he said. "You can practically see the Snitch yourself--have done once, actually. Could have reached out and caught it, too, but that may have fallen under the category of 'stealing attention'."

Long Fingers gave him a look of mild amusement. 

“Any other questions?” Harry said. 

“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry…”

“No, no,” he said. “Ask away. I always appreciate a curious mind.”

She licked her lips and tried to hide a smile.

Harry grinned. This was definitely going well. 

A rustle towards the entrance of the box cut off any further conversation, and Harry and Long Fingers turned their heads to see who’d just arrived.

“Gabrielle?” Harry said in confusion. 

Gabby’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice and the colour seemed to drain from her face as she took in the scene before her. “Harry?” she said, her voice slightly higher in pitch than he remembered. “What are you--I--how--?”

“Is everything all right?” said a new voice. 

Harry leaned back past Long Fingers’s head to see a tall, lanky bloke walk in behind Gabby. He seemed to have a permanently lost look on his face, hair parted straight down the middle like an imbecile. 

Harry shook his head before addressing Gabby. “Are you following me?” he said, genuinely curious. 

It wouldn’t be the first time, to be fair. Well--not with Gabby, specifically. But other women. A man, once. There was also Nullarbor Nymph in Eucla, but Harry preferred not to think about that.

Gabby scoffed and folded her arms tight to her chest. "Maybe _you're_ following _me_."

"But...we got here after them," Middle Part said quietly.

Gabby glared at him before turning to look at Harry. "Can I have a word?" she said.

"What's going on?" Long Fingers interjected, staring around at everyone.

"Nothing, Long--er. Nothing," Harry said, patting her hand. 

"A word?" Gabby said again, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

Harry shrugged and stood up. "I'll just be a moment," he told Long Fingers, earning a look of displeasure. "Why not get acquainted with Middle Part, over there."

"Who?" Middle Part said.

Gabby rolled her eyes before leading him out into the corridor. She looked rather lovely despite the scowl on her face. Clearly more effort was put into her appearance than usual, if her usual was what he saw in his office the other day. 

But even that was, well...lovely.

"Right. You're angry at me, and I don't understand why," Harry said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Usually when someone is angry at me, the reasoning is rather clear."

She stared at him for a moment before letting out a long sigh. "I'm not angry, I just…" she said, rubbing a hand over her face. "Look, my dates already end horribly enough--as you know--and I was sort of hoping this one didn't have to _start_ horribly, as well."

Harry frowned in thought. "Two questions," he said, holding up two fingers. "First, what does me being here have to do with your horrible date? And two...do you honestly believe Mr. Middle Part back there is going to be the answer to your little problem?"

Gabby clicked her tongue. "Would you stop calling him that," she said, throwing her hands up in the air. "He's got a name."

"I'm sure he does," Harry said in a soothing tone. "But back to my questions."

"Do I really need to explain why I don't want you here? You’re the genius, Harry, I’m sure you could figure it out," Gabby said through a hiss. "You're rude, you're condescending, you call people stupid names, and you know more about me at this point than any person should have the right to. How can I trust you not to go blurting things out about my sex life? Or lack thereof!"

At this, Harry straightened up and leveled her with a serious look. "I won't argue any of the points you made about my personality. And while I've done a great many things, I can assure you I would _never_ break patient confidentiality," he said, all humour gone. "But more important than that...I would never hurt a friend."

Gabby’s lips parted. “Harry…”

But he turned around before she could get another word out.

"Everything all right?" Long Fingers said when he returned to his seat in the box.

"Everything's lovely," Harry said, forcing a smile. "Has the match started, then?"

"Only just," she said, shifting a bit closer to him and taking his hand in hers. 

Harry stared at her fingers for a moment, entranced. Merlin, they really were a sight to behold.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gabby return to her seat as well, Middle Part fawning over her and making sure everything was all right. As though Harry had just done her some grave injustice. 

But he wasn't going to think about that right now. He was going to enjoy the match with his pleasant date and pay no mind to the flirtatious noises happening behind him.

Or at least, that's what he'd planned on doing. Fate had other things in mind.

It all started with a kiss. 

More specifically, it started with Middle Part laying a wet one on Gabby, letting out a sound so loud and so obnoxious that Harry couldn't help but cringe.

And then several things happened at once.

A loud _whoosh_ of air.

Several screams.

A Bludger's bat hurtling towards their box and heading straight for--

" _ARGGGGH!"_

"OH MY GOD! Martin! _Martin_!"

“Help! Somebody help!”

Harry whipped his head around and saw Gabby’s date crumple to the floor, the wooden bat rolling silently away from his limp body.

"It smacked him right in the head!" Gabby yelled. 

"He literally got knocked out..." Long Fingers said, eyes wide.

Harry walked over to the body and tilted his head to the side as he surveyed the damage. "How curious…" he said, looking between Gabby and the bloke at his feet and back to Gabby several times. 

"What?" Gabby said, grabbing onto Harry's arm. "Is it bad?"

"Hmm?" he said, glancing back up at her. "Oh, yes. Definitely. But that's not what I was referring to..."

“Then what the hell were you referring to?” she said, yelling right into Harry’s ear.

He winced slightly and turned to face her, his shoe accidentally bumping Middle Part in the nose.

“Oh, pardon,” he murmured to him before meeting Gabby’s eyes. “I was referring to your--oh, just a moment--” Harry took out his wand and cast a _Muffliato_ , Long Fingers looking between them and the Quidditch pitch where it seemed like chaos had started to ensue.

“I was referring to your sex problem,” he said.

Gabby’s eyes widened, and she looked around quickly as though someone might overhear.

“Don’t worry, I’ve muffled our conversation,” Harry said. 

“What the hell does my-- _that_ have to do with this?” Gabby said, gesturing towards the man on the floor.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “Well, it’s got everything to do with it. Isn’t this why you came to me in the first place?” he said, wondering if she was being thick on purpose. “What’s curious, though, is that you two were nowhere _near_ having intercourse just now...”

Gabby’s mouth popped open.

“I should hope not, anyway,” Harry said.

“Of course we weren’t!” she said, looking scandalized.

“Which begs the question…” Harry said, rubbing his chin with his fingers. “Why would a man fall victim to your sex problem if you two weren’t in the process of having sex?”

“Could you _please_ stop calling it a sex problem?” Gabby said through gritted teeth.

But before Harry could respond several loud _pops_ of apparation erupted inside their box. They looked around to find a team of medics rushing over to Middle Part who still lay immobile on the floor.

“You call this a rapid response team?” Harry said, eyebrow raised. He shook his head and turned to Long Fingers to apologize for their ruined date--and with any luck, schedule a new one--but she was annoyingly nowhere to be found. 

“Long-fin--! Damn…” Harry said, placing his hands at his waist and biting his bottom lip in thought. “Krista…? Kristen, where are you? Crystal…?”

“ _Mon Dieu!”_

Harry snapped his head around and saw Gabby looking out over the box, hands over her mouth and eyes wide.

He rushed towards her and followed her line of sight. “Well, I’ll be damned…” he whispered. Long Fingers was hanging off the box’s edge, swaying back and forth with terror in her eyes, but an unsurprisingly firm grip. Who knew hands like that could come in so...well... _handy_?

Harry chuckled to himself.

“Harry!” Long Fingers screamed, cutting into his thoughts. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” he yelled back. “Can you tell me how this happened?” 

Gabby made a noise of disbelief as she turned to him. “ _Are you kidding me right now_?” she practically screeched. “Help her first and ask your bloody questions later!”

But Harry only frowned as he let his eyes scan their surroundings, watching as the rapid response team took Middle Part away on a stretcher. 

“Of course,” he said to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. “The protective barrier must have been deactivated when the response team apparated in. Long Fingers had her nose practically pressed against it, surely she’d tip over. But then...two accidents in one sitting? Ehh, could be a coincidence. Or it could be something else…”

Harry sighed.

Curious....very curious...

“OUT OF THE WAY, PLEASE!” someone said, shoving Harry aside as they rushed towards the edge of the box. “Miss, on the count of three we’re going to levitate you up! One...two…”

Harry turned around and walked back to their seats where Gabby was already sitting, eyes wide, mouth open, expression frozen like she’d just seen a ghost. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he said, concerned. 

She turned to stare at him with a somewhat dazed look in her eyes. 

“Listen,” Harry said, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “I’m thinking you should stop by my office again this week. Whatever happened today was...odd. And we definitely need to look into it further.”

“Odd?” she said, sounding a bit hysterical. 

Harry knitted his eyebrows. “Yeah,” he said. “Did you not think it was?”

Gabby blinked a few times. “I _think_ I should go-- _alone.”_ She added the last word quickly as Harry stood up with her. “I think it’s best if we avoid each other as much as possible, Harry. But, er, I’ll...definitely stop by the clinic again this week.”

“Oh,” Harry said, ignoring the small weight that settled in his gut. “Right. Yes. Okay.”

“Bye,” she said, before rushing out of the box. 

Harry stood there for a moment, and then turned to face the pitch. The match had resumed sometime during their conversation but several reporters had clambered their way into Harry’s box instead, all their cameras and their Quick-Quotes Quills being shoved in his face, questions being thrown at him that he frustratingly did not have answers to. 

He could definitely see now what Ginny meant when she said he always stole too much attention. 

To be fair though, he didn’t think it was his fault this time. 

xxx

“Refill?”

Harry looked up and blinked a few times, his mind having wandered so far away he’d nearly forgotten where he was. “Pardon?”

The woman smiled. 

She had one of those happy smiles that took over her entire face, blue eyes crinkling at the sides. “Do you want a refill on your coffee?”

Harry shook his head. “No,” he said. 

The woman shrugged and walked away.

“Actually,” he said. “Er...hey! Crinkly Eyes!”

The woman paused in her step and turned around, looking from side to side as though unsure if he'd been talking to her. “Did you just call me...Crinkly Eyes?”

Harry cleared his throat. “Right, sorry. Erm...Miss Waitress…?”

“It’s Abby,” the woman said, pointing to her name tag. She raised an eyebrow at him, looking him up and down. “How can I help you, Defeated Posture?”

Right. He supposed he deserved that. 

“I’ll have a treacle tart, please.”

She gave him a nod. “Coming right up.”

“Thank you," he added quickly. "Er...Abby.”

The happy smile came back then, crinkly eyes and all, and Harry settled back into his chair in relief. 

For now at least. 

There was, of course, still the matter of...everything else.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Take a number.”

Gabrielle’s eyes rolled the second she heard that all-too-familiar refrain. She took a number before the clerk could tap the pad and went to go sit down.

The second her back was turned, however, she felt something bump up behind her.

“Fill that out.” 

Gabby looked over her shoulder. Ah, yes. How could she have forgotten the most _necessary_ part? With a sigh, she grabbed it and proceeded to fill it out. 

xxx

“Hi, Harry,” she greeted as he walked through the door. 

A grunt was the response she received. Harry didn’t look at her until after he’d placed the file down and sat on the floating stool.

“Don’t mind all the equipment setup. Most of it is for monitoring your magic.”

Gabrielle felt a bit apprehensive. There were a few doo-dads she recognized from her past experiences with healers but many others that she didn’t. A three foot sphere that was going through rotating patterns of black and white, for instance.

“I’ll need you to put these stickers on your cheeks.” Harry held out his hand where two fruit stickers were lying on his open palm.

“You...want me to put an apple and banana sticker on my cheeks?”

“That is what I just said, yes.”

“W- why?”

“They’re made of magical runes. Disguised to entertain children and trick muggles. Multipurpose, if you will,” he said, wiggling his fingers at her to take them. 

“Oh...okay.” She peeled the backs off and put them on her cheeks, feeling a bit silly.

“And you’ll need to hold this orange in your teeth, too.”

She took it from him and slowly brought it towards her mouth. “I need to do this to monitor my magic?” she said, _highly_ skeptical about this.

“Of course,” Harry absently replied, “and don’t bite too hard or you’ll damage the sensitive runic array inside.”

Gabby put the fruit in her mouth, her tongue tasting the bitter peel; it seemed to match her feelings about these derisory directions, perfectly.

xxx

“No fruit today?” Gabby questioned as Harry settled on his stool the following visit. 

She sure hoped not anyway. Her jaw had been aching from holding an orange in her mouth for so long.

“Fruit?” Harry said, confusion flitting over his face for a second before shifting to an amused grin. “The barista gave me the stickers when I got my coffee that morning. Not sure about the orange, though, might have stolen that from Tracey, actually”

Gabby’s mouth popped open. “But you said they had runes in them!”

A smug look came over his face. “I did, didn’t I?” 

“You’re an arse,” she said. 

She watched him pull out a jester’s hat, complete with rainbow colouration and bells at the peaks. 

“I’m going to need you to put this on,” he said.

Though he was being perfectly professional Gabby had the distinct impression he was messing with her again. And thoroughly enjoying it.

“Are there runes in this one, too?” She bit out sarcastically.

“No, this is for recording your baseline magic. There are sensors hidden in the hat that need to be spaced evenly along your scalp.”

Even though she doubted the sincerity of the motivation she put the hat on, its bells tinkling with every slight movement of her body. Gabby would just have to resign herself to this.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to hold this rubber chicken too,” Harry said, seeming to have pulled it out of thin air. “It used to be a wand but it got transformed into a chicken.”

There was no point in questioning this, either. He would make up some intelligent-sounding reason even if there wasn’t one, and she’d be forced to follow his directions.

She plucked the rubber chicken from his grasp using more force than necessary and held onto it. “Is this fine?” she asked.

“No, you need to lift it up over your head for it to work properly.”

Gabby rolled her eyes, something she found herself doing a lot around him, and lifted it up over her head, hitting her ridiculous hat in the process and making it jingle. Repeatedly. 

She doubted the ghost of a smirk on Harry’s lips was only in her imagination. 

With a sigh, she kept holding the chicken up over her head. If any of this made its way back to Fleur, she was going to kill him.

xxx

“What’s the plan today? Clown nose and giant shoes? Flippers on my feet? Cat ears with whiskers on my cheeks?”

Between grabbing a number--even though she was his first patient every day--filling out the same form with the exact same information on that damn clipboard, and following Harry’s ridiculous requests, Gabby was growing more than a little annoyed.

Harry only blinked at her in response, an oddly intense look on his face that made her blush slightly. 

“No,” he said. “I was thinking it was time to get your shirt off.”

Gabby wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “Pardon?” she said, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“We’ve done all the baseline testing, and I no longer need to dress you like a goof for entertainment.”

“For _entertainment_?” she said her fists clenching.

“All the equipment is hidden in the walls,” he said, gesturing vaguely around him as he flipped through her file. “But I figured if I needed to sit and monitor you for an hour I might as well entertain myself.” 

He said this all with an air of casualness that made Gabby assume she hadn’t been the first patient of his to suffer this same indignity.

“Figured that, did you?” she said.

“Mmm,” he said distractedly. “Though, I must say you do a wonderful troll impression. One of the best I’ve seen, actually.”

Gabby chose not to dignify that with a response. 

“Anyway,” Harry said, snapping her file shut. “Shirt?”

She swallowed hard. “J- just take it off?”

“That’s right. You said every time you try and expose yourself to a man something happens, correct? With all the sensors in here, if anything _does_ happen, it’ll give me some leads.”

Gabrielle didn’t try to respond verbally. Though this was a professional setting, and Harry wouldn’t be leering at her, this was, potentially, the first time any man would see her bare chest. She took a deep breath and gripped the bottom of her shirt. In a single fluid motion, she pulled it over her head. 

She suddenly wished she’d thought to put a different bra on than the lavender one she’d purchased on a shopping trip with Fleur to _enhance_ her bust. 

Gabby glanced up at Harry and saw that his attention was fixed on a magical monitor that hadn’t been there before.

“Bra too?” she managed to ask without faltering.

“Yes.”

With another deep breath in, she reached behind her back and pulsed a little magic into the clasp before slipping off the final garment covering her upper body. She fought the impulse to cover herself with her hands and arms. Though she was sure her chest was as red as her blushed cheeks. She was doing her best to keep calm and cool, even if it wasn’t really working.

“Huh, not...what I was expecting.”

That was about the last thing she wanted to hear when a man’s eyes were on her exposed breasts for the first time. Were they larger or smaller than he expected? Were they not to his liking?

It took all of her self control to keep her face as neutral as she could manage and not break into tears. “Why’s that?” she asked, her voice sounding fragile to her own ears. 

She knew she’d scoff at herself for reacting like this later. But right now, she’d prefer if the floor could open up and swallow her.

Harry frowned. “See, I cleared the room of any item that might have potential to cause injury, but I still figured your magic would have some sort of negative reaction,” he said, scratching the back of his head.

Gabby let out a shaky breath and felt her shoulders slump, feeling utterly embarrassed at how she’d misread his remark. “Can I cover myself, again?” she said in a tired voice.

Harry was staring off in space, appearing to be deep in thought. “What?” he said, as though just registering her words. “Oh, yeah, that’s fine.”

xxx

“So what’s the plan today?”

Gabby was trying to be upbeat about this. She’d talked with Fleur and the fact that Gabby had been able to bare her upper body without any consequence was a vast improvement in both their books. Sure, it was nowhere near ideal, yet, but she was getting there. 

“I don’t see any fruit or clown costumes, am I going to be taking my top off again today?” she asked dryly.

“Yes, that’s the plan.”

“Oh.”

“But let me call Tracey first, we’ll see if she can get a reaction from your magic.”

“Er--what?” Gabby said. 

But Harry had already moved back to the door and poked his head out. “Oi, Tracey, get in here!”

Gabby wasn’t so sure about this. Stripping in front of a random person was bad enough, but in front of the current bane of her existence? Highly unappealing. 

“What now, Harry?” Tracey said, appearing in the doorway.

“You’re a lesbian, right?”

The blunt question didn’t even phase her. “No, I’m not.”

“Bi then, at least?”

Tracey’s lips thinned. “You met my boyfriend at Yule.” With that she turned on the spot and stalked out.

Harry looked back at Gabby. “Well, thanks for coming. My plan won’t work if Tracey can’t leer at you.” He shrugged indifferently and added, “I’ll see you next week, then.”

Gabby watched him stand and walk out the door. She woke up early, came to the clinic, took a number, filled out the form and the whole plan was for her to take off her top and get leered at by a woman?!

She grit her teeth and stormed out.

xxx

Gabby refused to wear the ridiculous contraptions that Harry had brought out today.

“I get saying no to the clown nose and collar, but what about the jester hat again? The bells take it from mildly amusing to spectacularly comical.” Harry brought the top of the hat up to tickle her nose, bells jingling loudly, but she pushed it aside.

“No. No more wearing stupid clothes for your own amusement and no more taking off my shirt for your clerk.”

“What about a random bloke from the waiting room?”

She rolled her eyes at him, not for the first time today. “Would it help if I scaled Big Ben and then stripped naked?”

Harry tapped his finger on his chin. “No...that won’t do. Too many lurking variables to contend with, and the testing is too broad to achieve any real results of value. 

If he’d been close enough she would’ve slapped his shoulder for that comment. “Are you making any progress?”

“Yes.”

She sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to give any more information without being prompted. He was just like that. The more time she spent with him, the more she learned his stupid quirks. 

Like the way he rubbed his chin whenever he was thinking, or walked in exactly six minutes late to every scheduled appointment, or drank more coffee than was probably healthy for him. Not to mention the ridiculous names he came up with for every person he met. She’d asked him once what her nickname would’ve been if he’d never met her, but he’d refused to answer because _of course_ he had to be difficult. 

But then when she’d asked him why he’d simply shrugged and said, “I only call my friends by their real names.”

That shouldn’t have made her heart skip the way it did. 

She blamed the way the light was catching the colour in his eyes.

Gabby cleared her throat softly and focused back on the present. “Do you even have a diagnosis yet?”

Harry didn’t respond, at first. He finished whatever he was doing and then spun on his stool so abruptly Gabby felt her heart jump to her throat. “I do. The most likely diagnosis is a malfunctioning Veela Bond.”

“It can’t be that,” she said with adamance. She’d already seen Veela Healers and they’d researched and tested her ad nauseum. She’d seen them on and off for _years_.

“It couldn’t be a normal Veela Bond, I concur.”

“The Veela Healers have exhausted that avenue, trust me,” she said. “It’s not a Veela Bond.”

“Yes, yes, a normal bond has your Veela magic ‘mark’ the male by affecting him at an emotional level.”

“And I haven’t done that! Consciously or unconsciously! They checked. Multiple times! There isn’t even a sliver of my Veela magic missing.” She could feel her hope beginning to diminish within her. Almost every healer had thought it was because she was a part-Veela. A very small _part_ -Veela, she might add. 

It was something to do with her _magic_ , she just _knew it_.

“If you’d allow me to finish...I can explain my theory.”

Gabby hid the cringe she’d felt; the comment had made her feel like she was fourteen instead of twenty-four.

“Good. Now, while a Veela Bond is characterized by Veela Magic ‘marking' a mate, my conclusion is that your magic _believes_ you’ve ‘marked’ someone. It’s acting in defense by protecting you from having sex with anyone other than your ‘mated’ partner.”

Gabby’s eyes widened at the explanation. That…made... sense.... 

She squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched up her nose. Maybe every time she’d had issues in the past it hadn’t been ‘bad luck’ or fate playing tricks on her. Maybe there’d been a plausible explanation all along!

“C- can you...treat that?” She asked, feeling a bit of relief for the first time in a _very_ long time.

Harry gave a characteristically casual shrug of his shoulders. “If my theory is correct then it would be the first documented case of such a thing occurring. And any treatment would be pioneering by its very nature.”

Gabrielle nodded, showing she was following his words closely. But when Harry paused for a moment, a sudden thought struck her. “Well...what about when I was able to take my shirt off with you, though? Shouldn’t my magic have reacted then?”

“It’s a possibility,” he said, nodding, “and I like the way you’re thinking. Though a colleague of mine, Daphne Greengrass, once did a study on the Importance of Intent in relation to magic. And I believe it applies here. You see, you weren’t trying to seduce me. If anything, it was the opposite. Entirely non-sexual.”

That was true. It wasn’t like they would have done it in the examination room. Though, Gabby held herself back from admitting that it might not have been _entirely_ so in a different sort of context.

Either way, the theory made sense.

“Your Veela Magic will have to be ‘reset’ so that it stops acting to keep you faithful to your non-existent mate; or, I’ll have to find a way to subdue it until you select a mate on your own.

“You can cure me?” she blurted out the words, unable to keep the deep yearning out of her voice as a sudden rush of raw emotion overcame her. She was embarrassed to feel her eyes begin to water, so she looked away from Harry, feeling more vulnerable now than when she’d bared her chest to him. She didn’t know if she could handle being let down at this point. 

Gabby jumped a bit when she felt Harry’s hand patting her on the shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he said at once, withdrawing it. 

“No, it’s fine,” she said, wiping her eyes surreptitiously before turning to look at him. “I’m just so grateful that you’ve found a possible answer to all this. I can’t thank you enough for not giving up on me.” 

Harry chuckled, “It’s what I do, Miss Delacour; it’s what I do.”

Gabby let out a long breath. “Well, is there anything I can do?”

“Yeah,” he said. “If you care about your significant other you might want to avoid trying to get laid. For now, at least.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll do that,” she said, before adding, “unless I’m mad at him.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“And now, it’s time for the Bride and Groom to...” 

Whatever else the Master of Ceremony at this overly lavish wedding was announcing got tuned out by Harry. He’d gotten the gist of it. They’d sat through the speeches, pretending to care as various people droned on, and on, and on, and on, and then on, some more, about the newlyweds without even a drop of liquor being on hand. 

But now it was finally, _finally,_ time for the guests to get their arses out of their seats without being rude.

Ginny’s wedding was such an affair that Harry doubted any fuss would be made about him being present. There were so many important and distinguished guests that he’d been more than happy to get lost in the sea of redheads that had made up the familial side for the bride.

As he trudged towards the bar to find Perfectly Symmetrical’s drink of preference, he scowled at the line. The only way this extravaganza of a wedding could have been any larger was if they’d recreated the Quidditch World Cup Stadium.

Harry would have gladly skipped this whole ordeal, but unfortunately Ginny’s famed Gryffindor courage had faltered when trying to convince her mother that Harry Potter, the adopted Weasley, shouldn’t be in attendance. And Harry had known better than to disappoint Molly Weasley. 

“Harry, mate, how are you?” 

A hand clapped his shoulder, and he turned to see Neville smiling back at him.

“All right, and you? Been a while, eh? I’ve not seen you since…” Harry struggled to recall the last time they’d run into each other. A conference of some sort, to be sure, but the where and when was escaping him.

“Brazil,” Neville supplied for him.

“Ahh, Brazilia,” Harry recalled fondly. “I remember now. We had breakfast together, out on the patio, drinking orange juice.” There really was nothing better in the world than a crisp glass of OJ in the morning. 

Harry’s earlier scowl had now curved into a smile at the memory. 

“Yeah, orange juice and a hearty breakfast to get the day started off right before heading out on a long day at the convention,” Neville said with a matching wistful smile.

Neville understood the importance of starting the day off right. Good man, that Nev.

“Yeah, so, what’s new with you?” Neville asked, snapping back to reality. “Settled down yet, or are you here with another Generous Hips or Luscious Locks?” 

Harry tilted his head as he remembered both Generous Hips and Luscious Locks. Both were trainwrecks waiting to happen, if he were being honest. “I’m with Perfectly Symmetrical tonight.”

“Where’s she symmetrical?” Neville asked, cupping his hands at chest height.

“No, no not like that,” Harry said. “She’s actually got these two moles. Right at the spot where the chin bone and cheek meet, exactly the same position on either side. It’s bizarre and utterly fascinating.”

Neville pressed his lips together, clearly holding back a smile. “Only you, Harry,” he said, “only you. I mean, why date a girl unless there’s something medically fascinating about her body, right?” 

“Exactly,” Harry said, glad that they were on the same page. “Anyway, what about you? Hannah and the kids doing well?”

“Of course! The little man is growing like a weed and my princess looks just as adorable as her mother was at that age, pigtails and all.” The grin plastered to his face said more than enough, but Harry couldn’t help but feel a bit envious at how his eyes lit up with just a momentary mention of family.

“You know, soon you’ll have to be careful,” Neville said, breaking Harry out of his thoughts.

“Oh? How so?”

“Now that you’ve turned the big three-zero, you’ll have to start checking every girl for a ring or ring tan. Asking if she has kids or is recently divorced might not go amiss either.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m not that old. I’ll find someone to settle down with.”

“I’m sure you will, Harry. But, you know, we all thought it was going to be the woman wearing white today.”

Harry shrugged. “Molly would have given anything to see that, but our lives went in different directions. Her to quidditch stardom and living in the spotlight, and--”

“You to doing everything you could to stay away from it. Yeah, we know, Harry,” he said. “Though it’d be easier on the few of us that actually know you well if you weren’t such an arse to everyone you met.”

“It works to keep people away, and I don’t see why I’d consider changing that. Being nice and letting everyone treat me like a commodity was a whole lot less enjoyable.” It wasn’t even just that. It seemed no matter how much he avoided the public eye, people still refused to let his private life be just that-- _private_.

Harry tried not to think of the arsehole who’d visited him at the clinic the other day. Faked an injury just so he could not-so-subtly ask Tracey about her experience working under Harry Potter--the emphasis on ‘under’ not lost on anyone in the waiting room, including Harry who’d walked in at that very moment. 

Tracey had swiftly dealt with the bastard herself while Harry stalked to his office, practically seething. It was Gabby who’d turned his mood around, having witnessed the scene that morning, as well. She’d offered to wear his entire wardrobe of ridiculous attire just to amuse him.

He smiled softly at the thought. 

“Don’t be a stranger, Harry,” Neville said, bringing him back to the present. “Hannah’d love to have you round, the kids too.”

“Sure thing, Nev. Sure thing.” He dipped his head and then looked towards the table he was about to head back to.

“Oh, and don’t forget what I said on the patio in Brazil while we were sipping orange juice,” Neville called back. “If you’re an arse to every girl you meet, you might just drive away Mrs. Right.”

xxx

Gabrielle was bored.

Non. She was half-asleep. 

The man next to her had been droning on for the last half hour about a muggle sport he'd recently got into that sounded about as exciting as watching paint dry on a wall.

"It's one of the most physically demanding sports a person could play," Charles said, puffing out his chest a bit. “I don’t think you’re truly grasping just how great the potential for bodily harm is.”

Gabby propped her head up with her hand, blinking tiredly. “No, no, I get it,” she said for the fourth time that night.

“No, but, like...it gets _truly_ violent,” Charles said, using aggressively wide hand gestures. “Here, let me explain using the centerpieces as props…”

Gabby sighed and let her mind wander as Charles continued to prattle on.

She was very much regretting asking Mr. Water Polo over here to be her date for this wedding. She’d met him through a mutual friend of Fleur’s and Gabby was trying very hard now to not judge any of Fleur’s friends because of it.

Merlin. _Mr. Water Polo_. She’d been spending so much time with Harry lately, she was starting to sound like him. 

Gabby shook her head in amusement and let her eyes wander around the guests. She wondered briefly if Harry was even here. From the little she knew about him she was certain he would hate an event like this. Hundreds of people stuffed together in one place, rubbing elbows with each other and exchanging bland pleasantries. She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d found himself a corner to hide in. 

No. Harry wasn’t like anyone here. Harry wasn’t like anyone, anywhere, to be honest. Rude, yes. Condescending, yes. Impatient, very much yes. But not to his friends. Never to his friends. 

Not even to her. 

For weeks now he’d jumped through every hoop trying to find the answer that nobody could give her. To a question that was honestly too embarrassing to even think about. But he’d never laughed. Never made her feel shallow and shameless as so many other healers had done in the past. A woman desperate to lose her virginity? How utterly scandalous. 

No, Harry was different. In so many ways, but especially the ways that counted most. 

And he most definitely would have brought Mr. Water Polo down several pegs by now. 

Gabby stared at the man in question for a moment. Why was she even putting up with this? Why hadn’t she just feigned an illness and ended this disastrous date already?

With a sudden burst of inspiration, she placed her hand on his--the one obnoxiously using the candle as a makeshift defense. “Charles, I’m not feeling well, I need to go.” Avoiding a scene was the best bet.

“We’re on a _date_ , Gabrielle. Don’t leave and make a scene.”

“A date? Really? You call this a date? All you’ve done so far is talk about how great you and your ruddy sport are!”

He gave her an affronted look. “Yeah? And what about you?” he said, suddenly defensive. “I had to be talked into this, you know. Word is you never put out and are as stiff as a board.”

Gabby’s hand shot to her mouth as she abruptly stood up. “Well, _word is_ blokes that play water polo aren’t any good with their legs.” She pushed in her chair roughly. “The _petit_ one especially,” she hissed.

And with that, Gabby turned on her heel and stalked off. 

xxx 

Harry was heading back with his drink as his mind wandered back to Gabby. The malfunctioning Veela Bond was a solid diagnosis but there had been no progress on suppressing the magic, thus far.

Every time they successfully thought they’d had it blocked off, Gabby would test it out with no positive results.

The only sort of progress they’d had, beyond the extensive magical tests completed, was getting her shirt off in a professional setting. At this point the closest he was to assisting her in having sex was by doing the deed himself in the exam room.

Harry made his way back to his table, spotting Gabby sitting a bit of a distance away from him. She was on a date, apparently. He observed her for a moment, watching as she argued with the man next to her whose receding hairline could be seen from space.

Harry took a sip of his drink and continued watching as she stood up suddenly and turned to walk away. But before she could take a step in the opposite direction, Follically Challenged dared to place a hand on her arm, trying to hold her back.

If Harry hadn’t been paying attention he might have missed what happened next. Almost instantly, the waiter clearing tables next to them slipped and fell. The tray launched forward and all but a single large knife went plunging to the floor. As the waiter crashed, his flinging arm made contact with the butt end of the knife and it shot forward, stabbing the closest person in the chest.

It was _magical_ to behold. 

Literally. 

He had just _beheld_ Gabby’s magic taking care of Follically Challenged the second he’d grabbed her.

Before Harry could examine this incident any further, though, he was startled by a scream. He blinked and looked to his left.

And blinked again. 

“What’s just happened?” he asked aloud. 

Perfectly Symmetrical was currently writhing on the floor with an almost identical steak knife protruding from her arm. 

Several wedding-goers quickly gathered round, various expressions of shock on their faces. 

“Merlin, somebody help her!” a voice screamed. 

“She’s bleeding!”

“Is there a healer in attendance?!” 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, shifting his gaze between Perfectly Symmetrical and Follicly Challenged multiple times, his mind rushing about a mile a minute. 

That was twice now a date of his met a gruesome fate in the space of a month. Long Fingers at the Quidditch match...and now Perfectly Symmetrical. 

Harry was many things, but he was _not_ a bad date. He was certainly not a cursed one, either. Could it really be Gabby’s magic affecting him, now?

But why _him_ ? Of the infinite amount of people at this wedding, some of whom had surely spent more time with her than he’d ever done, why would _Harry_ be the one affected by her Veela magic? 

Unless…

Well, unless…

But no…

It couldn’t be…

Could it?

_Unless... the Veela magic was only a symptom, not the cause._

Gabby had been too far away, he doubted she had even seen him. What had happened to his date couldn’t have been caused by _her_ magic.

“ _Merde,”_ he whispered to himself, stumbling over Perfectly Symmetrical, and accidentally stepping on the steak knife in her arm before making his way toward Gabby. 

She was ten tables away and staring at Follically Challenged, but Harry’s mind was reeling.

If this was what he thought it was, something of the like hadn’t happened since Wizarding kind had kept historical records orally. The topic had only been something he’d read in passing. Theoretical possibilities of cases that came millenia before antiquity.

Harry racked his mind for _anything_ that could provide confirmation of his theory but _nothing_ was coming to mind. 

How could he confirm it?

Ideas flew in and out of his head. He was practically jogging toward Gabby when the _exact_ method to test it out popped into his head.

Onlookers were making way for him, everyone knowing of Healer Potter’s prowess, the Red Sea parted so he could make it to the emergency.

His stare was sharp and his jaw was set, hard. He meant business.

Harry arrived at the scene. Instead of stopping like everyone expected, he stepped right around the blood pooling from Follically Challenged and grabbed Gabby by the shoulders.

“If you could, would you have sex with me tonight?”

The sheer seriousness of his question quieted all those who heard it, most were watching the scene entirely dumbfounded.

“W- would I have sex with you if I could?” Gabrielle parroted his question.

He’d forgive her for the small blunder. It was a high-stakes moment.

“Yes. Would you?” Harry asked, softly shaking her by her shoulders, trying to jolt her out of her shock. 

“Yes?”

“Not good enough. Yes or no. Will you have sex with me tonight?”

Gabby blinked and opened her mouth. No words came out. She shut it.

Harry shook her one more time. “Focus, there is nothing more critical happening, right now. Yes or no.”

“Yes,” she squeaked out, her eyes darting around as several people started slow-clapping.

That was good enough for Harry. He shifted his right hand up off her shoulder and slid it behind her head. Then before Gabby could let out another word, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. 

The kiss went on for several seconds before Gabby began to move her lips against his, and for a moment Harry was completely lost in it.

Gorgeous Hips didn’t compare to this. Luscious Lips didn’t compare to this. Perfectly Symmetrical never even had a chance.

Blimey, is this what everyone meant when they talked about fireworks? He could feel them vibrating in his chest, practically _hear_ them going off around him.

Wait.

He could _hear_ them going off around him.

Harry separated from Gabby and looked around at the sky where several Weasley Wildfire Whizbangs were being set off at once. 

“What’s going on? _What_ is the meaning of this?”

He turned to see Ginny rushing towards them, eyeing both bodies on the ground before looking at Harry and Gabby. 

“ _You,”_ Ginny hissed, reaching out to grab Harry by the shirt. 

Harry held his hands up in defense. “I can explain.”

“ _You’d better start!”_

“Everyone thought it was a Veela Bond, that Gabby’s Veela magic was the problem. And it was...but it _wasn’t_.”

“I said _explain_ , not talk in circles.”

Harry gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “It won’t make sense if you don’t know the background.” He barely noticed the intensified glare from the Bride. “She never had a chance to pick a mate. Her magic, her _witch_ magic, already had something so much greater for her _._ ”

“Quit with the theatrics. This is _my_ _wedding_!” Ginny bit out at him, eyes narrowed dangerously.

Harry merely focused on Gabrielle, green eyes meeting blue. “Your Veela magic acted out because you have a soul mate, Gabby," he said, taking her hands in his. "And that soul mate...is _me_.”

Any and all conversations instantly died. The entire, much too large guest list, wasn't making a single sound. A pin drop could be heard.

“A soul mate?”

Harry nodded. “There’s never been a part-Veela with a Soul Bond before. It’s why no one had any idea what was happening to you.”

“You’re sure?” 

Other people were now making noise, discussing the scene playing out before them, all thoughts of wedding celebration gone. But Harry only focused on his Bonded.

“Long Fingers and Middle Part were both taken out at the quidditch game. I thought it was a coincidence until Perfectly Symmetrical got stabbed at the same time as Follically Challenged," he explained, still holding her hands in his. "And then you said you’d have sex with me, and _I_ initiated the physical intimacy. If that’s not proof enough, I don’t know what is.” Harry chuckled after finishing his explanation, feeling simultaneously relieved and elated.

“And what about the fireworks?” Ginny piped up, dropping one of the left over fuses that had been scattered on the floor onto the still floundering Follicly Challenged.

“Oh, that’s on me,” George said, stepping out of the crowd with his hand raised. 

Ginny whirled around to face him. “Why? _Why_ did you bring fireworks, I never requested fireworks!” she said. 

George shrugged. “Figured it was a safe bet,” he said. “Harry showing his face in public? At _your_ wedding? He was bound to upstage you at some point. Thought I might as well add a bit of flair.”

Harry nodded in understanding while Ginny let out a loud cry of frustration. 

She whipped around, digging her heel into Follically Challenged’s hand in the process, before throwing her bouquet at Gabby’s face and walking away. 

“Harry, is it really true?” Gabby said, tossing the bouquet behind her. 

Harry heard a grunt, and they both turned to see that it had landed on the knife still lodged in Follicly Challenged’s chest.

“Yeah. It is,” Harry said, looking back at Gabrielle with a grin. “First Soul Bond since history has been recorded.”

“Huh, well...I guess you were right, then,” Gabby said. “I did just want you to help me get laid in the end.”

Several awws sounded throughout the crowd as wedding goers stood up and cheered while the couple kissed. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“Crooked Nose?”

“No, he’s much more of a Bulbous Weenus, you see noses like that far too often.”

“Ah, makes sense," Gabrielle Potter said, leaning against Harry as they sat on the outdoor patio--the same patio Neville and Harry had enjoyed, years ago, in Brazil.

“Try that woman, over there,” Harry said, giving a covert gesture towards the woman walking along the sidewalk a few feet off the fenced patio.

“Boxy Lips?” Gabby tried again. 

Harry sipped his glorious orange juice. “No, she’s more of a Glaring Glabella.”

“You’re too good at this,” Gabby said with a sigh. 

“It’s the orange juice. Wakes you up and gives you that necessary dose of vitamin C.”

Gabby shrugged and took a sip from Harry’s cup. “All right, all right, one more time,” she said, spotting a man helping a little old lady cross the street. “Overly Helpful?”

Harry shook his head, “No, that’s Bruno, the guy that suggested we visit here in the first place.”

“Oh, right, I liked him," Gabby said with a pleasant smile. "Bit weird that he offered to clean up after us though, seeing as he's not a member of the hotel staff.”

Harry shrugged, “That’s Brazilian Beta for ya, he was like that when Nev and I visited too.

Gabby frowned, but shrugged as well before taking another sip of the delightful drink that was rapidly growing on her. “Well, I’m happy to give orange juice a try. But as long as I have my soul mate by my side I know I’ll be happy forever.”

Harry raised his glass, “Here’s to the first ten. May we find a way to upstage Ginny and Bighead Garçon at _their_ ten year anniversary.”

Gabby smiled at her new husband, her Bonded, her Soulmate and the love of her life. “Cheers, I’ll drink to that.”

* * *

A/N: This story is dedicated to the 332 brave Sal-Tal Studios representatives of the Eucla, Australia Headquarters who tragically perished in the annual Sal-Tal team-building Battle Royale/Luau. #GoneButNeverForgotten

We would also like to blame Baba Yetu who discovered our Saliient91/Taliesin19 anagram much earlier than it was meant to go public. We were planning on spending the next few years developing this story into a multi-fic masterpiece following the completion of our current projects GYWM and HP&ITT, but we were found out. So, now you get a one-shot.

Next, we would like to thank Petrificus Somewhatus for joining the Troll-Fic Conspirators and for his contributions as beta for the fic as well as abetting the building of the HYPE. Thanked, but your pay is still docked, probation continues through 2035.

And finally, we would like to thank Nauze for delaying the release date of this fic. But also blame Nauze for ending all the cases of Scurvy in Eucla, Australia by mandating all employees at Sal-Tal Studios start their day with a crisp glass of OJ.

Happy Trolling!


	2. Harry & Ginny

"Harry?"

"Harry!"

"Harry!"

Harry pulled the covers up higher over his head and groaned as his bedroom door burst open.

"You'd better be dead, you arse," came Ron's voice as the covers were unceremoniously ripped off him.

Harry curled up in the fetal position.

"Harry," Hermione said from his other side. "Open your eyes and look at us, please."

"No," he mumbled petulantly.

Hermione sighed and sat down on the bed beside him. "Look, we know this isn't easy," she said, her voice growing gentle. "No one blames you for wanting to be alone, but…"

Harry could practically hear Ron and Hermione exchanging a worried look.

"But...?" Harry said, still curled up.

"But," Ron said, sitting on his other side. "You need to get out of this room, mate. Have a shower, get some fresh air, come back to the clinic…"

"Ron," Hermione whispered.

"What?" Ron whispered back. "We said we'd …"

"No! Not until we..."

Ron sighed. "But I thought…"

"That's not what-"

"I'm not deaf," Harry said loudly, covering his face with his pillow. "I'm mourning."

They both cleared their throats.

"It's been a very long year for you, Harry," Hermione said, carefully removing the pillow. "We know that. We know what happened to Gabrielle was...horrible. I mean that Belligerent Boggart-"

Harry held up a finger as a sneeze suddenly fought to push its way out of his system.

"Bless you," Ron said.

Hermione handed him a handkerchief before continuing. "Anyway, the point is," she said. "We don't expect anything from you. We just want you to get out of this room. Start to live your life again, you know?"

"And what precisely does that entail?" Harry said, handing back the handkerchief, snot and all.

Hermione politely accepted it.

"Well," Ron said, exchanging another look with Hermione. "We thought it might be best if you got back into your regular routine."

Harry stared up at them, the covers pulled up to his chin. "Going back to the PIMMPLE, you mean?"

"The Potter Institute for Magical and Mundane Pathologies, Lurgies, and Endocrinology," Hermione muttered stubbornly.

"Yes, exactly," Ron said, talking over her.

Harry sighed and turned his head away. "I dunno," he said. "What's the point? What's the point of anything if Gabby…"

Hermione squeezed his shoulder. "She'd want you to live your life again, I'm sure of it," she said. "She wouldn't want to see you like this."

Harry stared off into space for a moment, letting out a wistful sigh. "Still can't believe it sometimes, you know?" he said, shaking his head. "Merlin...if it wasn't for that stupid Histrionic Howler-"

"Shit!"

Harry and Hermione whipped their heads around to see Ron holding his finger to his mouth.

"What happened?" Hermione said.

"Bloody splinter," Ron grumbled.

Harry watched as Hermione fussed over him, a small ache in his chest growing at the realization that he had no one to do the same for him.

Not anymore.

With another sigh, Harry pushed his covers off. "Fine," he said. "Might as well go back, not like I've got anything else going for me."

"Harry," Hermione said in that tone of hers that suggested he was being ridiculous. "You've got plenty of things going for you."

"You've got us," Ron said nodding. "And Mum and Dad. All of us Weasleys. Hell, you've even got Ginny."

At this, Harry gave him a doubtful look. "I said I'd do it, all right?" he said. "I don't need you bullshitting me."

"We're not-" Ron said before cutting off with an exhale. "Look, Ginny's actually part of the reason we came today."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he said. "Have I done something new to offend her? Merlin knows I couldn't possibly have stolen her spotlight from my bedroom."

"It's not like that, Harry," Ron said with a frown. "She needs your help."

"My help?"

"Well...a healer's help," Ron said a bit sheepishly.

"I've already seen her," Hermione said before Harry could open his mouth to retort. "Numerous healers have, but no one can figure out what's wrong. And, well, that's always been your specialty, hasn't it? Solving the unsolvable?"

At that, Harry stood up and walked over to his wardrobe, making the door pop open with a flick of his wand.

"What are you doing?" Ron said.

"Performing an exorcism, what does it look like I'm doing?" Harry said, thumbing through multiple black outfits.

Hermione cleared her throat as Harry selected one and laid it out on his bed.

"One more thing while we're here…" Hermione said a bit hesitantly.

Ron threw her an exasperated look, but she ignored him.

"Perhaps it's time to...retire the black?"

At this, Harry snapped his head up with a scowl. He stared between the two of them for a moment before taking his shirt off. "Tell Ginny to come in tomorrow," he said, grabbing a towel and heading to the bathroom. "I'll be sure to see her first thing."

XXX

Harry sighed. Two seconds late.

Let the bloody charm notify Hermione. The fact that he was showing up at the clinic at all should've been enough.

"Well, well, well...look what the kneazle dragged in," a feminine voice remarked with faint amusement. "Been rather dull without you around, I must say."

Harry gave her a dry smile. "Tracey," he greeted, holding his arm out.

A mug of coffee was placed into his hand, and he took his first sip. If he was going to be back here, the least he could do was enjoy the coffee; it was as good as he remembered.

"Perfect, as always, my dear." Harry's eyes met Tracey's as he awaited the usual refrain.

"Not your dear," she said, making him smile with nostalgia. "And don't think I'm not annoyed with you. Making me suffer Cormac's ego for the past year."

"Oh, it couldn't have been that bad." Harry winced at the death glare he received upon uttering those words.

"Couldn't have been that bad?" she hissed out. "If Hermione thought my pay requests were pushing it before…You know he tried getting me into an exam room for a full evaluation? Even after I clearly stated that I have a boyfriend! Not that that should even matter, mind you."

Harry nodded in a show of commiseration as he took another sip of his perfect coffee. "Nothing new, though, eh? I must have propositioned you a few times before."

"Ha, as if!" Tracey said, rolling her eyes. "You only 'proposition' me when you need my help covering your arse from Hermione."

Harry shrugged. "Fair," he said. "But it's not as if Cormac's the only bloke to take a run at you."

"Unfortunately. But if it was only that, it wouldn't have been so bad," Tracey said, shaking her head. "The farcical fool always makes it seem like he'sthe one doing me a favor just by asking! It's the condescension, persistence, arrogance of it all that just makes him such a…such a...such a-argh!"

Harry took a small step back. He knew enough to recognize when Tracey was right and properly pissed. It was best not to engage.

He cleared his throat. Normally he'd jump at the excuse to waste time instead of seeing patients but…work was looking like the easier option at this point. "I'm very sorry to hear all that. Be sure to share your grievances with Hermione," he said, patting the air above her shoulder. "But anyway, the patients?"

Tracey huffed out a breath and handed him the files. She then turned on the spot and stomped out.

Harry took another drink of his coffee and then headed to Exam Room 1. Might as well start in order.

Opening the door, he fell back into routine. "Right, what's wrong with you then?"

XXX

Ginny stepped into the foyer of the PIMMPLE and barely made it in when she heard a voice call out.

"Take a number."

Well, alright, then, she thought, already growing annoyed.

XXX

"It's a bit embarrassing," Penis Pointer said, pointing at his penis.

"More embarrassing than a prostate exam?" Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

"Blimey. You a mind reader?" Penis Pointer asked with a nervous chuckle. "You think I need one of those?"

"I'm not, no," Harry said. "So tell me what's wrong with you."

"Er...right. Well, see, when I tug the snake-"

"Tug the snake?"

"You know, wank the Willy Wonka?" Wanking Willy said.

Harry blinked tiredly. "You have a problem masturbating?" he asked, wondering why he let Hermione and Ron drag him out of bed for this.

"Slicking Willy isn't the issue, it's what happens after!" His eyes bulged as he said the last word.

"After?" Harry winced as he spoke.

"Right, yeah," the man nodded. "Isn't it supposed to, you know, sort of...feel...good?"

Harry gave the barest of nods.

"But...it...doesn't?"

Harry shut his eyes. "What does it feel like, then?"

"Angst. I feel all...angsty after."

"Angsty?"

"Angsty," Wangsting Willy repeated.

Harry nodded sagely. "Right," he said, snapping his file shut. "What you need is an endocrinologist, a specialist that can help you with your wangst problem. Take this, it's the seven different ways to contact Doctor Hermione Granger. Be sure to call her, she's a wangsting expert."

Sharing was caring, after all. What better way to let Hermione know things were getting back to normal than sending her a patient?

~~WANGST~~

Ginny eyed the woman hunched over her desk, her quill scratching noisily over a thick stack of parchment.

She hated to play this card, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And sitting in a waiting room for hours only to be unceremoniously dismissed by Harry, as she surely would be, was definitely a desperate time.

"Hi. I'm a friend of Harry's," Ginny said. "Can you tell him I'm here?"

"A friend of Harry's, eh? Yes, you and every…" The woman looked up and then paused at the sight of Ginny. "Oh...Weasley, I take it?"

Ginny fought the urge to roll her eyes. "You know we don't have a monopoly on ginger hair?"

"Don't get snippy with me. Your face is plastered all over the magazines we litter the waiting room with. I'd recognize you a mile away," the woman said, making Ginny feel a bit chastised. "Big star Quidditch player, aren't we? Well...not so much lately, though, eh?"

At this, Ginny gritted her teeth. "And I'd recognize you from that attitude," she shot back. "Tracey Davis, is it? Hermione's had plenty to say about you in the past."

"Good things, I hope," Tracey said in mock eagerness.

"Oh, we both know that's not the case," Ginny said.

"However will I go on?"

They both eyed each other then, silently daring the other to look away first. In the end, the sound of the clinic door opening interrupted their battle of wills. Ginny took one look at the hiccuping, sneezing man approaching her and ripped a number off the pad. "Don't tell Harry anything," she said. "I'll wait my turn like everyone else."

Tracey continued to eye her suspiciously as she handed over a clipboard. "Fill that out."

Ginny accepted it without another word and then turned to find a seat.

~~WANGST~~

"And you didn't notice this?" Harry asked, the skepticism in his voice was palpable.

"I thought they were only dirty," Fungal Feet replied.

"You thought your dry, cracking and fungus covered feet were only dirty for weeks on end?"

"Well...some of it's just dirt, innit?"

"There's no room for anything on your feet but fungus," Harry said, placing his fingers on the bridge of his nose and exhaling loudly.

Might be best to just stun Fungal Feet and be done with it.

~~WANGST~~

"You're Gin-hiccup-ny Weasley, aren't you?"

Ginny nodded politely at the man beside her. "And you are?"

"Bar-hiccup-Bar-achoo!-Bar-hiccup-"

"Bartholomew Baggins?" Tracey's voice announced.

"Yes, that's it," Bartholomew said, nodding.

Ginny stared between him and Tracey who was visibly growing impatient.

"Baggins!" Tracey shouted.

Bartholomew jumped in surprise before realizing his turn had just been called. "Sorry-hiccup-miss!" he said, several scrunched up tissues rolling off his lap and onto the floor as he stood up quickly.

Ginny eyed the leftover debris warily before changing seats.

~~WANGST~~

"Ahhhh CHOO!"

The patient waiting for him let out a sneeze just as Harry walked in the door. "Right, what's wrong with you then?" he asked after plopping down onto the stool.

"Don't-hiccup-healers usually wear white-achoo!-coats-hiccup-?"

"I'm wearing black. Now answer the question."

"I, erm, can't sto-ahh, ahh, achoo!" Spray came out of his mouth after he failed to cover it in time. "Hiccup."

Harry only stared. He wasn't going to repeat himself.

"I can't stop sneezing. And then-achoo!-I hiccup after-hiccup."

Harry glanced at the chart. Singultus Sternutations was magical and the initial diagnosis charm didn't show anything physiologically wrong.

"Achoo!"

Harry shut his eyes and waited for the-

"Hiccup."

He then rubbed his chin for a moment before pulling out his wand, "Anything you're particularly afraid of?"

Singultus Sternutations ruminated long enough that Harry had almost forgotten he'd asked a question. "I suppose snakes?"

~~WANGST~~

"So, is it true, then?"

Ginny looked up to see Tracey staring at her. "What?" she said bluntly, having no patience for guessing games at the moment.

"About the accident?" Tracey said, twirling her quill between her fingers.

"Sorry, but I don't think that's any of your business."

Tracey merely quirked her lips up before shrugging and returning to her growing pile of paperwork.

~~WANGST~~

"It's an easy fix."

Harry conjured a towel and then a bowl; he handed the towel to Singultus Sternutations.

"What I'm going to need you to do is put the towel over your head and close your eyes-then just relax. When you're feeling calm, I'll slide the bowl under the towel and you'll take three deep breaths before opening your eyes again on the fourth."

The man gave him a doubtful look but slowly nodded his acceptance.

"Don't worry, I'll talk you through it," Harry reassured him.

Singultus Sternutations did as he was told and signalled that he was relaxed. Harry filled the bowl with steaming hot fluids and cast the necessary spells to ensure the treatment would work.

"Okay, three deep breaths in a row now, and then open your eyes when you start to inhale the fourth time."

The man nodded.

"I'll count you off first. Ready?" Harry said. "Aaaand inhale, 2, 3, 4...exhale, 2, 3, 4…excellent. Relax, be at peace...now inhale again...and exhale. That's it now, just let it all out, relax...and inhale...and exhale. There's three. Now remember to open your eyes on this fourth one. On my go. Inhale..." Harry pushed his floating stool backward and moved away from him as quickly as possible.

And like a conductor cueing a single staccato note with his baton, Harry brought his wand up and articulated his wrist to set the spell off.

It was a moment of beauty.

Perfection.

Singultus Sternutations inhaled and then opened his eyes to the gaping, venom-tipped fanged mouth of python, aimed mid-lunge at his nose.

"ARGH!" Scared Shitless screamed and bolted back, the towel over his head blocking his vision, making him crash off the bed.

"The muggles had the right of it," Harry said conversationally, dusting his wand off with a slide of his fingers. "Scare a patient sufficiently and it'll counter the sneeze-hiccup jinx-used to be popular in the 1850s, actually."

Unable to keep the smirk off his face, Harry gave Scared Shitless a conciliatory pat on the head before making his way out the door.

Sometimes there was a good reason to get out of bed in the mornings.

~~WANGST~~

"How much bloody longer," Ginny muttered to herself as she threw her head back against her seat.

"Oh? Is someone growing impatient?" Tracey said with a grin. "I could just let Harry know you're here, you realize that. Bump you up the list, perhaps?"

"I said I'd wait like everybody else," Ginny said.

Tracey made a show of looking around the empty waiting room before staring back at her. "Muggle side's looking rather sparse, as well," she said with a shrug. "You didn't mind me telling Harry when you first got here. But then I said something to make you change your mind. How interesting…"

"Shouldn't you be doing your job? You know, instead of harassing me?"

Tracey smiled sweetly. "You're a stubborn one, Weasley," she said, shaking her head. "I like that in a girl."

"You're not my type."

Tracey merely laughed.

~~WANGST~~

Harry walked into Exam Room 3. But before he could even take sight of the patient, he heard a whoop of joy.

Looking between the two occupants, a mother and son, something jogged his memory. It was the image of the mother trying to tug a red lolly out of the boy's mouth that finally made it click.

What was Bad-Faith Bargainer doing back here?

"Right, what's wrong with you then?" he said, going with the standard opening.

"It's-"

Harry tuned out Overly Anxious. It had only taken the tone of her first word to remind him of how unnecessary her presence was. There was little chance of something medically relevant going on, and the negotiations couldn't commence until she was out of the room. Getting her out of the room was top priority.

A strong wandless compulsion charm had her heading back to the waiting area.

"What are you doing back here, kid?" Harry said, starting the negotiations off with a subtle power move. One that was immediately dismissed by Bad-Faith Bargainer.

"Where have you been?! Do you know how much you've put me through while you've been skiving off for the past year?" Snivelling Snot asked.

The subtle diagnostic charm Harry threw his way might have shown nothing was wrong, but the bulged nostril and the line of mucus dripping out of it suggested otherwise.

"This is the fourteenth, the fourteenth time I've come looking for you."

Harry stared flatly, growing irritated by the childish tirade. The Haggling Guru probably knew that persistence paid off in negotiations, this wasn't going to be easy.

"Mum thinks I need to see a therapist cause I keep shoving things up my nose."

"You should."

Snivelling Snot glowered but pressed on. "I got the SP and Super Mario 3 again," he said, crossing his arms. "Thought I could beg off school while you beg off work. A win-win."

"No payment?"

"£50."

"No. You're the one who offered, and I don't get paid if I don't see more patients."

"Fine."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "You'll just eat all the lollies and watch me play your Gameboy?" he said, naturally suspicious of Bad-Faith Bargainer. The kid had a rep and this was way too easy of a capitulation.

"Something like that."

The statement immediately sat wrong with Harry. But getting to his lunch break without having to see another patient did sound kind of lovely. Plus, Dudders had recently beaten his record by 48 seconds.

"Fine, you got a deal."

"Shake on it."

Harry held out his hand and they sealed the deal. The SP was then thrust at him, and he turned it on and got ready to attempt another speedrun.

But just as he was about to hit start, he saw a Gameboy DS make its way out of the backpack that he hadn't noticed earlier.

Harry scowled. Bloody Bad-Faith Bargainer.

~~WANGST~~

"Harry."

The second he heard the voice he knew this wasn't going to be pleasant.

The irate form of Ginny came stalking out of the fourth exam room. "Are you going to treat me now or what?"

"No. Lunch," Harry said, barely giving her a glance as he headed towards the apparition point in his office.

"Fine. Diagnose me there," she said, walking in step with him.

"No, wait until lunch is done," he repeated, walking faster.

Apparently this wasn't an acceptable course of action for her. She continued to match his step until Harry abruptly blocked off her path, nearly causing her to stumble.

"I'll be an hour, then I'll see you," he said, staring down at her. "It's been a while since I've put any time in here, and I'm famished. When I'm famished, I become irritated. When I'm irritated, I become-"

"More of an arse, I know," Ginny said through gritted teeth. "Ron and Hermione said you promised to see me. Just diagnose me over lunch; you'll get to eat and I'll get to go on with my day as soon as you're done."

Harry looked at his watch and clenched his jaw. The more he tried to blow her off, the more he'd cut into his valuable lunch time. "Fine."

Once they were inside his office, Harry shut the door and apparated them to the local cafe he'd been to a few times in the past. It was the first place that popped into his head; plus, it had good coffee.

The two were ushered to a table and sat on opposite sides. The mug of hot coffee that was offered soon after wasn't nearly as good as Tracey's magical one but it would do just fine.

"Right, what's wrong with you then?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Really, Harry? Just going to jump into Healer-mode, not even a little small talk or catch-up? We haven't seen each other since...the wedding."

The pause before the final two words brought some moroseness to the air.

"Yeah," Harry said, crossing his arms.

She was the only member of the Weasley family that had failed to show for Gabby's funeral. No card, no flowers, no nothing.

"I'm sorry for what happened to Gabby," she said, looking down now. "The Trichromatic Trebuchet shouldn't hav-"

Her words were cut off by the arrival of a familiar-looking face. It had been over a year since Harry last visited this cafe, but he hadn't forgotten old Crinkly Eyes. "Abby," he greeted, causing Ginny to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Scar Face!" Abby said with a genuine smile. "It's been a while. How are you?"

"Not well in the slightest," Harry said simply. "But we're ready to order."

Crinkly Eyes nodded and listened while they rattled off their orders, smiling at them before promising to return later.

"Scar Face?" Ginny said, looking amused.

Harry shrugged. "Muggle film character. Crinkly Eyes said it made me sound cool," he said. "And while that's not a priority of mine, I accepted the title."

Ginny nodded slowly.

"Anyway, what's new with you, how's Bighead Garçon? Shouldn't you be off stroking his ego somewhere instead of bothering me?"

"He died."

The blunt and unexpected response took him by surprise. "Oh. How-" Harry struggled to find the right words to ask, "how long ago?"

"About a year," Ginny shrugged. "Right around when Gabby had that issue with the Sadistic Snuggie tha-"

"Here we are," Crinkly Eyes said, appearing in front of them once more with two plates in her hands.

They both thanked her before returning to their conversation.

"Right, so what's wrong with you, then?" Harry really didn't want to spend this time reminiscing about their lost lovers. As if Bighead Garçon could even compare to his Soul Bonded.

"Well," Ginny said, playing with the lettuce in her sandwich. "Ever since the accident with my husband, I...well, I haven't been able to fly. The brooms-"

"Wait," Harry said, holding his hand up. "What does him kicking the bucket have to do with you and flying?"

She frowned. "You don't know?" she said softly, her head slowly quirking to the right.

"I didn't even know something had happened. This is the first I've heard of it."

Ginny eyed him for a moment as if gauging if he was being genuine before she began to explain. "I'd been flying with him at the time, me steering from the back, and I didn't see the goal post. I thought we had more room, but…" she said, shaking her head. "We ended up crashing into it. He hit his head, and we were going so fast it just...exploded-blood, brains, bits, it was everywhere."

Ginny's lip was quivering but her voice had remained steady enough and there were no unshed tears in her eyes.

Harry nodded, taking a moment to appreciate the fact that Bighead Garçon died because his head had exploded. "And how does that mean you can't fly?"

"I…it-" Ginny wrung her hands together. "It just won't work. I get on a broom and the charms are all wonky. It accelerates all wrong, the turns are all messy, and I feel like I'm going to die on the bloody things-if I can even manage to get up in the air at all."

Harry took a deep breath in. Work, routine. It was what Ron had said he'd needed to get back into, but clearly him and Hermione really were bullshitting him. According to Hermione, Ginny had already seen her and multiple other healers, too.

But for what? Harry was starting to see what was going on now. And it pissed him off. Those meddlesome, manipulative morons. They'd dragged him out of bed so he and Ginny could rehash and commiserate over their lost lovers.

Harry pushed his unfinished plate away and got out of his seat. "Cut the bullshit, Ginny. I don't want to talk about our shared pain of losing our significant others."

"What? That's not it at all; I have a problem! I need your help. I can't fly any brooms and nobody knows why!"

Harry gave her a withering glare. "Go hug a teddy bear, sing kumbaya, and get fussed over by Molly. You don't need me, you need a bloody shrink."

With his piece said, he stormed out of the cafe. He'd get lunch elsewhere or maybe not even bother going back to work.

Buggering berks trying to get him to talk with Ginny. Hermione could be called in to cover Harry for the rest of the day. She deserved it.

~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~

Harry let out a deep sigh before stepping out of the grate and into the sitting room of the Burrow. If he'd been flaky in making Sunday dinners before, it was nothing compared to this past year. He could probably count on his fingers the amount of times he'd shown his face.

It was always a bit of a struggle being bombarded by everyone wanting to make sure he was doing okay when all he wanted to do was crawl under the covers. But today was even worse. Or at least...he reckoned it would be. After his run-in with Ginny the other day, he'd been dreading seeing her again. The very notion that Ron and Hermione had set the whole encounter up just so that he and Ginny could talk was maddening. He was a Healer for Merlin's sake. Not a member of a bloody support group for grieving widowers.

What were they playing at?

They'd both come knocking the day after demanding to speak to him, but he'd been prepared with several well-placed enchantments on his doors and fireplace.

Harry gritted his teeth at the gall of what they'd tried to do before walking through the kitchen and out the back door. He was grateful that the house was empty so he could collect himself before facing everyone.

"Harry, dear! So glad you could make it. Come, come!" came Molly's voice as soon as he stepped into the garden.

Several heads turned in his direction at once making Harry feel oddly exposed. He eyed the table and noted with surprise that Ginny wasn't present. Ignoring the empty seat Ron was gesturing wildly at beside him, Harry made his way to the other end instead, next to Bill and Fleur.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to finally show his face," Bill said, his voice oddly sharp.

Harry spooned some potatoes onto his plate before accepting an extra spoonful from Molly. "The rules of mourning state that I'm not allowed out in society for at least a year."

Bill looked momentarily confused before shaking his head. "That's not what I meant, Potter."

"Bill," Fleur said in a warning tone.

"What?" Bill hissed at her. "I'm not going to coddle him like you lot. He's still an arse, and he needs to hear it."

Harry frowned as several voices jumped to his defense. "I'm not sure I'm understanding," he said. "Have I done something to offend you?"

The question was genuine, but Bill seemed to think otherwise judging by the outraged look on his face. Blimey, perhaps a year away wasn't long enough. Not even five minutes into this dinner and Harry already felt drained.

"Not me," Bill said. "My sister, you dickhead."

Fleur placed a calming hand on Bill's arm while Molly tutted about language.

Harry nodded his head slowly. "Ah," he said, interlacing his fingers in front of him. "This must be about the other day. I admit, the teddy bear comment was out of line."

"Do you even hear yourself when you talk?" Billy said through clenched teeth.

"Nearly always," Harry said, frowning.

Bill threw his arms up in the air, hitting his plate in the process and causing it to rattle loudly.

"Why don't we all just settle down and talk through this like adults?" Ron said from the other end of the table.

"Shut up, Ron," Harry and Bill said at once.

"You're not the only person who's lost a loved one, you know," Bill said, pointing a finger at him. "Ginny's been through hell and back this year. And when she comes to you seeking help, what do you do? You mock her!"

"I was very sorry to hear about Bighead," Harry said, trying to placate him.

"He has a name, you arse!"

They all turned to find Ginny walking towards them, fury in her eyes and red hair dancing behind her in the breeze.

"And what the hell do you think you're doing, Bill?" she said, levelling her brother with an equally furious look. "I told you that in confidence, not so you'd go fighting my battles for me. If anyone's going to yell at Harry, it's going to be me."

"How romantic," came George's quiet voice somewhere along the table, followed by a soft 'ow'.

"We're all getting very riled up here," Molly said, disapproval marring her features. "Can someone please explain what's happened to cause such a fuss?"

"Nothing," Ginny said, taking a seat. "Just Harry being Harry. I'm well used to it by now."

Harry knitted his eyebrows. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

A tiny chorus of 'oooh's followed his words.

"It means my life will always be insignificant compared to yours, won't it?" Ginny shot back. "Whether it's my grief, my career, my accomplishments…Even my failures! It'll always be Harry Potter this, and Harry Potter that."

"Yes, I believe that's why you broke up with me in the first place," Harry said, feeling anger rising in him.

Several gasps broke out in response.

"But I can't exactly help that, now can I, Ginny," Harry said, his voice getting louder. "And you didn't do much to help with it, either, did you? Dragging me around to every bloody event and gathering-"

"Forgive me for wanting you there by my side!"

"-even though you knew how much I hated being in the public eye-"

"-relationships require sacrifice-"

"-getting annoyed at me every time I 'stole the spotlight'-"

"-you ruined every moment that was special to me, my own wedding-"

"-as if I'd done any of it on purpose-"

"-you never even tried-"

"-but worse than all that-"

"You were never there for me!" they both shouted at once.

Silence fell over the garden.

Harry swallowed and looked around, surprised to find himself breathing heavily as if he'd just run a long distance. He also noted that he was standing up and wondered when that had happened.

"Just forget it," Ginny said, shaking her head. "Forget I ever came to you for anything. I'll work out my own problems myself."

With that, she whipped around on her heel and walked back towards the house.

Harry stared after her for a moment, wondering why his chest suddenly felt so hollow.

"Well...that was awkward," George said suddenly, earning several murmurs of agreement.

"Bit too serious, as well, don't you think?" Ron mused, taking a bite of his chicken leg. "I wasn't expecting things to go in that direction."

"Oh, hush you," Molly said, waving a hand at him. "They're both grieving. There's a different tone to our gatherings now."

"Yeah, they're a bit less flamboyantly French," George mused. "What with Gabby and Bighead…"

Everyone nodded solemnly.

Harry ignored them, standing frozen in his spot. He felt someone tap his arm, and he turned to see Fleur staring up at him.

"Go after her," she said.

He opened his mouth to respond, but Fleur cut him off. "Trust me, Harry."

Harry wanted to say that no good would come of going after Ginny Weasley, but the look in his sister's blue eyes was too familiar to a pair he'd once known. He could never say no to those eyes.

So with that, he followed after Ginny.

He found her in her old bedroom. Or rather...heard her. She'd been stomping about upstairs, so he'd followed the noise up.

"Ginny," he said, knocking on her open door.

She gave him a confused look before opening the door wider. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Harry shifted on his feet. "I've come after you."

"Why?"

He folded his hands behind his back. "I was told to."

Ginny rolled her eyes and walked back in her room. She hadn't shut the door in his face, so he assumed he was allowed to come in.

"May I?" he said, gesturing toward her bed where she was currently sitting up against the headboard.

"We've shagged on this bed, Harry," she said. "I think I can handle you sitting on it."

Harry wasn't sure he understood the correlation, but he didn't argue.

"You can stay for fifteen minutes and then leave. That should be long enough to convince our audience that we've talked things through."

"Why do you hate me?"

At this, Ginny snapped her head up. "What?" she said, before holding her hand up. "Don't repeat the question."

Harry closed his mouth.

She turned her head to stare out the window, and Harry figured their conversation was over. But then she spoke again.

"I don't," she said. "I just really, really, really, really don't like you sometimes."

"I thought we were friends."

Ginny let out a dry chuckle. "Sure, Harry," she said.

"That was sarcasm."

"Point for Potter."

"Why didn't you write me?"

"What?" she said, before rubbing her hands with her face. "You always do this, Harry. You always talk as if we're already inside your brain."

"I didn't know about Bighead, but what's your excuse?" Harry said, ignoring her comment. "You knew Gabby died. You knew there was a funeral. You didn't come, you didn't write me, you didn't send flowers. Why? Why would a friend not do those things?"

"Why does it matter?"

"Because it does!" Harry said, hitting his hand against the mattress. He turned around so his back was to her and leant forward against his knees. "I would've come for you. If I'd known, I would've come."

Silence followed his words for several seconds before he heard a shuffling behind him and then felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry," Ginny said, close to his ear.

"What," he mumbled moodily.

"Come on, turn around," she said, coaxing him as if he were a child.

Harry sighed and looked over his shoulder.

"All the way."

Harry sighed louder and turned his body fully toward her.

"Look," she said, staring down at her fingers. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should've...I should've done something. Been there. But in my defense, I was also grieving and...maybe a bit upset at you, too."

He frowned in confusion. "What? Why?"

Ginny shook her head. "It's so stupid now, I don't even want to say it aloud."

Harry was the one to place a hand on her shoulder now. "Go on, tell me."

"It's just...grief makes you sort of mad, you know?" she said. "And I'm already a bit mad when it comes to you, anyway. So I just...I remember thinking when I found out...how fitting, you know?"

"How do you mean?"

Ginny exhaled, her entire body deflating a bit. "How fitting that you steal the spotlight even when it comes to this," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. "It's ridiculous, I know. It's so ridiculous."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. It was quite ridiculous. But it was also quite sad. And Harry never wanted to make Ginny sad.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She pushed his shoulder lightly. "Don't do that," she said. "Don't be all sweet and make me feel even guiltier."

Harry gave her a sad smile. "You know...before Gabby...you were the only person who'd ever called me sweet," he said. "Most people prefer the term 'bitter arsehole'"

Ginny let out a laugh at that. "I'll never understand why you don't show that side of you more," she said, shaking her head. "It's one of the things I missed most about being in a relationship with you."

"I thought it was the sex?"

"I've had better."

Harry nodded. "We were each other's first, we weren't all that great at it."

"Anyway," Ginny said, leaning back against her headboard. "Fifteen minutes are up, I suppose."

He licked his lips as he stared down at the all too familiar bedspread. "There is something wrong with you, isn't there?" he said, not meeting her eyes. "With your flying."

"What gave it away?"

"Your pride."

He looked up to see Ginny raising an eyebrow at him.

"After everything we've been through," Harry said. "You'd never ask for my help unless you truly needed it. I suppose I was too grief-stricken to realize that the other day."

"And you're not too grief-stricken today?"

"Well, I'm wearing grey," he said, gesturing to himself.

"Dark grey, I'd noticed."

They stared at each other for a moment, the brown of her eyes a familiar, calming sight. Harry could feel the air around them growing thicker with something, and he couldn't help but flick his eyes down to her mouth.

"Harry," Ginny whispered.

"Yeah," he said, lips parted.

He didn't know when or how it happened, but they'd both leaned in, only a hair's breadth apart. The familiar flowery scent of her invaded his nostrils and made him feel heady. He was just about to press his mouth to hers, but at the last second, Ginny shifted her face away ever so slightly and shut her eyes.

"Sorry, I…" she said, not looking at him.

Harry froze, not sure what to do. Had he just been about to betray Gabby's memory? To throw himself at an old burnt out flame?

"I can't," she said, shaking her head before meeting his eyes again.

"Right, yeah, me neither," he said, blinking a few times and nodding.

"It's just...you and this room and..." Ginny said.

"We couldn't..." Harry trailed off.

Being this close, he could see she had the same emotions in her eyes that he was currently feeling.

Guilt. Shame. Desire. Fear.

To name only a few.

"It's okay, Harry," Ginny said, placing a palm against his cheek. "You'll get back to colours again one day."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yeah?"

Ginny nodded. "And so will I," she said.

Harry glanced down and played with a loose thread on one of the quilted patches. "Come to my office tomorrow," he said finally. "Let me help you solve your problem."

~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~

"Take a number."

Ginny gave Tracey a flat stare. "Hermione told me to go to Exam Room 1 when I got here."

"Fill this out first. No form, no healer," Tracey said, nudging the clipboard at her.

Ginny swatted the woman's hand away as it grazed her breast. "Really? Trying to feel me up now?"

"Oh, trust me. If I was feeling you up, you'd know," Tracey responded with an exaggerated wink.

Ginny withdrew an already completed form out of her pocket. "I'm going to go to the exam room now."

"If I were you, I'd choose his office over an exam room. Or Hermione's office if you're feeling adventurous."

Having already begun walking away, Ginny stopped, turned on her heel and scowled, "What's this now?"

"If I was coming to shag Harry Potter, I'd rather be bent over a desk than an examination bed."

"I'm not coming here to shag him," she hissed.

"Aren't you meeting with Harry so you can get back on a broomstick?" Tracey said, a triumphant smirk on her lips. "His broomstick?"

"Fantasize much?" Ginny bit back. "Going to stare at my arse when I walk away, too?"

Tracey raised an eyebrow, took the paper without looking, threw her a grin and then went back to her work.

"I'd better not catch you doing it." Ginny said as she walked away.

~~WANGST~~

Harry pulled out a jester's hat from behind his back.

"I'm going to need you to wear this."

"No," Ginny said, crossing her arms across her chest. "I grew up with Fred and George-I know it's a prank."

Harry nodded. "Okay, but you'll need to hold this rooster. I'd take the runic-inscribed bar out of the middle, but unstuffing a bird is rather difficult."

"I'm not holding your cock, Harry." Ginny said dryly.

Harry stared at her flatly. "Good one. But I'm going to need you to hold onto it."

"Nope," she said, "Hermione told me the magical sensing equipment is in the walls already."

"For standard cases, yes," Harry said with a nod. "This is anything but standard, and I've brought in a little extra equipment to see if it can help."

"But why are you doing it again, when Hermione's already done it?"

"What if the reason she couldn't diagnose you was that the equipment wasn't calibrated right or something had interfered and contaminated the results?"

"Fine," Ginny grit her teeth together, "but I will check with Hermione about this, and if you're lying I will hex you!"

Harry ignored the comment and passed her the cock. "You'll need to hold it in front of your face."

Ginny grabbed a hold of it, grip so tight, it let out a terrible squawking noise.

"Careful, don't squeeze too hard."

If looks could kill, Harry would be dead.

Unfazed, Harry corrected her technique. "Great, just hold it a little closer now."

Ginny moved it closer.

"A little further away, that's too close."

She huffed out a breath but complied.

"Ah, a bit too far, move it back, again."

"Harry!" Ginny screeched and then threw the rubber rooster at him. "I'm not holding a rubber cock in front of my face and moving it back and forth!"

Harry caught it smoothly. "It works just as well if you hold it up above your head."

Ginny snarled at him.

~~WANGST~~

"Take a number."

"Do you just wake up in the morning and get excited to sass every person that walks through these doors?"

"You didn't walk, you took the floo."

"Whatever."

"Fill this out."

Ginny pulled out a magically duplicated form and slapped it on the desk again. "Here you go," she said, giving her a smug look.

"It's dated for last time. You'll need to fill it out again."

Ginny glared as Tracey pushed the clipboard towards her a bit roughly, her knuckles bumping into Ginny's chest again.

"What's with you? Are you trying to see how firm they are now?"

Tracey gave a casual shrug. "Not my fault you're so short."

~~WANGST~~

The second Harry stepped through the door, he saw a streak of magic racing towards him. But the spell fizzled out as it came into contact with the protective enchantments that prevented patients from trying to curse healers-a security measure Hermione made sure to put in place after the third time Harry got hit with a stinging hex the first month they'd opened.

Unfortunately there was nothing to be done for the punches to the face.

"Bat Bogey Hex, how… original," Harry said.

Normally he'd portkey the offending individual to St. Mungos for such an act but that wasn't an option this time, sadly.

"I asked Hermione," Ginny said, arms folded over her chest. "There was nothing in the rooster, you git."

"I told you stuffing a bird was difficult."

"No, you said unstuffing it was difficult, and then had me-" Instead of completing her sentence she just glared. "I'm not playing any more perverted games to amuse you. Just do your tests like a professional."

"I was actually thinking it might be time for an un-dress up."

Ginny threw her arms up in the air. "What is it with you people?" she said. "First your clerk tries to feel me up, and now you want to get my top off?"

Harry gave her a thoughtful frown. "Tracey tried to feel you up?"

"She's 'accidentally' touched my breast twice now," Ginny said, putting air quotes around the words.

"That's ridiculous," Harry said, shaking his head.

"I know!"

"I knew she's lesbian," he said with an amused chuckle, before rubbing his chin. "Well...bi, at least. The bloody liar."

Ginny was staring daggers at him for some reason.

"Also, what's this about me wanting to get your top off?" Harry said in confusion, only now processing her words.

"You said it was time for an un-dress up!"

"Yeah, I wasn't talking about your top. I was thinking a bit lower," he said. "Why would I even ask you that? Your issue is with riding a broom. Do you often ride brooms with your chest? If that's the case, I think we've solved your problem."

Ginny was visibly growing frustrated now. "What are you even saying?" she said loudly. "I'm not dropping my knickers for you either, Harry!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, who said anything about knickers?" Harry asked, putting his hands up in surrender.

"You did! You said lower!"

Harry blinked. "Yeah, you're wearing a magical belt. We can't have that throwing off the test results."

Ginny glanced down, her hands shooting to her belt buckle. "Oh," she said, her cheeks growing redder than her hair.

~~WANGST~~

"Take a number," the clerk said without looking up.

"Here's your form, dated today."

Tracey glanced up with an eyebrow raised. "Someone's finally catching on, I see."

"I'm going to the exam room."

Ginny stepped past the desk but paused for a second, feeling like something was different. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw there was a new mirror at the edge of Tracey's desk. It was perfectly positioned so it looked down the corridor.

"Did you install that just so you could look at my arse down the hall?"

"Oh, did Hermione tell you? How embarrassing," Tracey said, her hand coming up to cover her lips, pretending to be abashed. "It's true. I was thinking only of you when I requested the mirror be installed so that I could monitor the hall between the exam rooms."

~~WANGST~~

Ginny barely gave a cursory glance at all fifty phallic shaped objects Harry had set up around the room. "Are you any closer to diagnosing me?"

Harry glanced up, noting Ginny's eyes were more downcast than usual and that her hair had been pulled into a lazy ponytail.

"The last set of magical scans will be completed soon," he said, flicking his wand behind his back to banish all fifty objects back to where they came from.

"The last?" she said with a frown, no visible reaction to the change in decor. "Have you found out anything yet?"

Harry dipped his chin then brought it back up. "Yes, many things."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Such as?"

"That there's a good reason I mess with people when carrying out these tests," Harry said, crossing his arms and resting his head back against the wall. "It's far less amusing this way. Dreadfully boring, if I'm honest."

"Well I'm sorry for having some dignity and not wanting you to be amused at my expense."

He nodded. "I'm sorry, too."

Ginny gave him an exasperated look. "Will you just tell me what you've found out so far!"

Harry pushed off the wall and plopped onto the stool near her. "Didn't Hermine tell you that moving and talking can throw off these tests?"

Ginny gave him the two finger salute.

"That's moving."

Harry pulled out the Advance SP that he liberated from Bad-Faith Bargainer-there had to be some recompense for his illicit tactics.

"Are you seriously going to play a muggle video game in front of me?"

"Well if you aren't going to amuse me, I'll have to do it myself," he said, not bothering to look up from his SP. "Oh, and, no talking. I just went over that."

"You've been testing me for weeks, now. You must have an idea or something!"

Harry could hear the anger rising in Ginny's voice and knew she was close to snapping. It was never a good idea to push a Weasley to their limit.

"What I was going to say-when this test was concluded-is that there hasn't been anything abnormal in the results," he said, pressing pause on his game. "I've checked the calibration of the equipment, ensured the runic arrays are all functioning, and redone some of them, just to be sure."

Ginny sighed heavily and stared down at her hands in her lap. "So you think there's nothing wrong with me, as well?" she asked in a small voice, any remaining hope visibly leaving her brown eyes.

"Did I say that?"

"No."

"Well then," Harry said with a shrug. "If these static tests aren't showing us anything then it just means we need to carry out some alternative variable testing to determine what's going on."

"And how are we going to do that?"

Harry simply gave an enigmatic smile in response.

~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~

"Is this a Gryffindor championship team reunion, Mr Potter?" the stern Headmistress asked as they headed out to the Quidditch Pitch.

"No, I just needed a place to fly around that wouldn't be associated with any negative memories."

"You don't think the Battle of Hogwarts might qualify as a negative memory?" McGgonagall said, her eyebrows slightly raised.

Harry shook his head. "This is still the place that holds my fondest memories of quidditch. Ginny will have great ones as a professional, but the years playing for Gryffindor are fond for all of us."

"They are." McGonagall's lips curved into a restrained smile before thinning. "My condolences to you again, Harry. What happened to Gabrielle with the Tantric Thestral and a Bucking Broom was simply-"

"Thanks," Harry said forcefully. "I appreciated you being there for me and speaking at the funeral. I'm here for Ginny though, we can talk more later."

"Of course, Harry, of course. May I ask why you decided on Hogwarts? Wouldn't the Holyhead pitch have been a better option?"

Harry shook his head. "Her time with the Harpies will have been tainted by the death. I can't rule out other stadiums and figured having a little tea with my scotch might be nice."

"As cheeky as always, I see."

Harry grinned. "You planning to watch or do you actually have something to do during your summer?"

"Rolanda's bringing the scotch. We wouldn't miss two of our most famous alumni going for a nostalgic fly. Besides, you don't have the best track record for avoiding injury here."

"That's fine, so long as you stay out of sight," Harry said. "But what's this about injuries? Do you not trust my protective spellwork? I've not killed a patient yet."

McGonagall pinched her lips together. "Even Albus' wand work wasn't always perfect. And need I remind you, Mr. Potter, which of us taught the other magic?"

"Point taken, Professor, point taken."

Harry wandered over to the pitch with his first edition Firebolt in hand-from the same production run as the one Sirius had bought him all those years ago. It had cost him an arm and a leg, but Harry had bought close to a dozen of them to ensure he never ran out of his preferred broom.

For today's tests, he'd added a charm that emitted a trail of white smoke from the bristles. He'd ensured that it worked by letting out a couple of dotted lines that all started from the same plane and narrowly funneled out.

With a quick inhale of crip summer air, Harry swung his leg across and mounted the Firebolt before kicking off into the air. Second after second he accelerated the broom, picked up speed, and gained altitude. It was a bright summer day but the whipping wind brought a boyish smile to his face.

There had been questions as to why he went into Healing instead of trying for professional quidditch. He'd always said it was the publicity that was the issue, but there was more to it than that if he was being honest.

Flying was the one activity that he could find solace in. Where he could lose himself and forget that the outside world even existed. He didn't want to taint that-its purity, its innocence-by making it a job.

Harry was broken out of these thoughts by a flash of red entering his peripheral vision. Making a steep turn, he dove and raced straight towards her.

"Glad to see you've made it," he said, gracefully dismounting his broomstick.

"What am I here for? You just said to meet me at the Hogwarts quidditch pitch," Ginny said, folded her arms.

"Well, I was hoping you could take a ride on my broomstick," Harry replied, showing off one of his prized possessions.

She gave him an unimpressed look. "A Firebolt? Really? You still fly one of them?" she said, eyeing it up and down.

"Can't go wrong with a classic."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Brooms are obsolete after a World Cup cycle, they never last to a second."

Harry shrugged, undaunted by her criticism. "Then you won't have an issue flying an old obsolete broom later, now will you?"

Ginny's arms crossed, and she hugged them to her body.

"Don't worry about that now, just hop on behind me. I've got monitoring equipment setup around the field, if your magic goes wonky, it'll be recorded."

"B- behind you?"

"That's what I said."

Ginny approached the broom apprehensively and stopped before she was close enough to swing her leg over it. "I won't be flying it?"

"You'll just be along for the ride. Just think of it being like when Bill and Charlie would take you up on their brooms when Molly wasn't watching."

A ghost of a smile graced her lips. "Alright, I can do that."

Harry started them off with slow easy circles. He wasn't even pushing the old broom to half of its top speed; seeing if it could perform like new wasn't the goal. The uber tight grip Ginny had on him was loosening up, circle after circle. He could hear her breathing continue to calm as well.

"I'm just going to fly around a bit and start marking our path, just relax," Harry said, leading them steadily forward. The charm he used caused a trail of white smoke to emit from the bristles, tracing the broom's course as Harry went in one direction, turned into a quarter circle, then levelled out in a long straight line. It wasn't until he mirrored the motions on the opposite side of the pitch that Ginny realized what he was doing.

"Are you seriously drawing a giant penis in the middle of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch?" she said into his ear, voice filled with amusement. "Not even Fred and George had the audacity to do that with McGonagall lurking about."

"Well, it's a good thing nobody's here to watch us then," Harry said with a secret grin. He wondered how the two professors were taking this.

Ginny playfully swatted his shoulder, but he could feel her start to relax her hold on him. With the first requirement now met, Harry could begin testing.

"Alright, now place your hands on the broom and just keep us flying in the same circle I have us going in."

But the second he finished speaking, he felt her tense. Ginny's posture went rigid and her arms held onto him as tightly as they'd done so far.

"I'll keep my hands on it too, I just want you to co-fly with me."

Slowly she released one of her hands and hesitantly grabbed the broom.

"Good, good, now the other one," he encouraged.

As soon as the second hand made it onto the broom, Harry noticed the first sign of abnormality. The broom vibrated slightly and then bucked. The sensation was eerily reminiscent to his first year at Hogwarts when Quirrell had jinxed his broom.

The moment it happened, Ginny let go of the broom and held onto him tight. It took a creative bit of flying, but Harry managed to maneuver them so they were fully in control once again.

"Alright, that'll be on the sensors," Harry said, letting out a quick breath of relief. "I'll just fly us around a little more and then we'll head down and call it a day."

Ginny didn't say anything in response, and Harry started to descend, positioning his body so she wouldn't see exactly where they were going. "Nice day for a fly, isn't it? Gorgeous summer air, no clouds in the sky. If there was a snitch out here, its glint would be far too easy to spot."

She let out a small scoff. "Even now you think of finding a snitch?" she asked.

"Well of course. This is where I caught them all," Harry replied a bit pompously.

He assumed she rolled her eyes at his comment. "What else is there to think about up here?"

"Nothing just...everytime I tried to make a romantic comment in the sky while we dated, you were always thinking about the blasted snitch, even at the Burrow."

"It was ingrained in me, Ollie taught me well," Harry said with a proud smile. "Catch the snitch or die trying."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't just that though," she said, sounding a bit moody. "You were the same way with everything."

"Oh, come on," Harry said in exasperation. "You can't seriously be mad that I gave my all when it came to flying."

"I told you, it wasn't just that. You were always focused on something. You'd pursue everything you did with a dogged determination," she said before letting out a long sigh. "Everything but me."

Ginny muttered the last part, but Harry still caught it.

"If we're going to hash out our past relationship, you may as well just lay it all out there now," Harry said as he continued to fly around.

"Maybe I will!" Ginny challenged.

"Fine, be my guest!" Harry said, refusing to back down.

"It was always about you, Harry," she said, speaking sharply into his ear. "You broke up with me, to protect me. You never asked what I thought, you didn't think about what I wanted, you just did it. You were going on your mission and you focused all your attention on that. And yes, I understood why it was important, how could I not? But the least you could've done was discuss it with me first!"

That was fair and something that had come up in the past.

"Then, after it was over, you focused your determination on avoiding the spotlight. You say I dragged you to public event after public event, but you'd never go out with me. Only when there was something you or I had to attend. And, even then, you'd bitterly complain the whole time."

At this, Harry couldn't help but fire back. "You weren't the one they hounded. You weren't the one who had their life being picked apart. What I wore, what I ate, if I went to the restroom. Articles would be written about every bloody person I even stood next to. I touched, touched, Susan on the shoulder once and there were gossip columns about our sordid love affair in the papers for weeks. Daily coverage! All because I'd put my hand on her shoulder and asked how she was doing!"

Harry released a breath then ran his hand through his hair, "I'd just fought a war and wanted time off. I'd had attempts on my life since I was eleven. I just wanted some time to figure out who Harry was. Not Harry Potter. Harry. Just Harry."

His flying grew more erratic, mirroring the growing intensity of emotions building through the conversation. After forcibly calming himself down, Harry spoke again. "I was in a bad place, and I'm sorry for that," he said, having spent many a night thinking over these words. "At the time, it was so hard to look past what I was doing. To see more than myself...my problems. But you were there with me, and I wasn't always attentive to what you were going through, too."

Ginny remained silent for a moment before responding. "I get it, Harry, I really do," she said, tone much softer now. "But none of that was the final straw for me. And to this day, you still don't know what it was, do you?"

Harry didn't have anything to say to that. She'd been the one to break up with him. Things had been rocky for a while and the final straw hadn't really mattered to him.

"It was never how you upstaged me. Even at my own wedding, I could forgive you for that. That's just your luck, Harry. Things happen and you deal with them-I get it, it's always been that way," she said.

Ginny paused for a moment before continuing. "It was going off to become a healer," she informed him.

The decision that altered his life. He'd gone from mindlessly trying to find himself, to starting his journey in the profession that had helped him find purpose and had allowed him to stay close to his best friends.

"We could have made it work, we could have stuck it out. Even barely seeing each other with our clashing schedules; I could have handled having no time with you. But I couldn't handle the assumption that you'd just be able to make the decision for us. Just like you always had." She paused and let out a deep breath, "You decided upon your next quest and didn't talk to me, you didn't consider me, again. That was it. If you wouldn't do it then, when would you?"

Harry thought about her words as they flew straight. He knew where they were going, he just hadn't expected the conversation preceding it would get this heavy. It was almost a shame what was about to happen. But, if he was going to help Ginny, this was the best way forward.

Shifting his body, he allowed Ginny to finally see where they were headed, and it had an immediate impact on her. She screamed and held onto him for dear life.

They were on a collision course with the goal post, and it was coming at them, fast! But just as they were a few feet away from replicating the accident with Bighead, Ginny's magic reacted as if refusing to allow it to happen again.

All at once, the broom between their legs shattered.

Harry felt it, the Firebolt's magic was decimated and the handle he'd been holding was now dead in his hands, completely unresponsive. The broomstick had exploded, pieces of it littered the air, descending all around them.

They'd been fifty feet up and now they were forty, thirty and then twenty. Even so close to the ground Harry still hadn't snapped his wand into his hands. He was too busy considering the magical reaction that had just occurred.

It had been so utterly fascinating. Unlike anything he'd ever witnessed before. And, he'd seen Gabrielle's magically literally try and take people out.

As they broke ten feet, the charms Harry had set up ahead of time kicked in, causing their momentum to slow. When their feet touched the ground, it was no more jarring than skipping a stair on the way down.

Ginny was gaping at him while he was still pondering what had just happened.

"You utter arse!" she yelled at him, shoving him hard in the chest. "You knew that was going to happen, you planned this."

"Of course, I did," Harry responded, not sure why she was freaking out.

"I thought you-we-might die!" she snarled. "I thought the last thing I'd have done in my life was lay into the one man I knew I could always count on to be there for me!"

Harry threw up his hands. "If I'd told you what was about to happen, the results wouldn't have been accurate. I'm just trying to help you and this is the best way I know how to do it."

Anger flashed in her eyes. Ginny opened her mouth to retort but then slammed her jaw shut. "Argh!" she screamed out. "I can't deal with you, Harry. Just… Argh!"

Harry watched as she threw her arms up and then stomped off. Whatever she'd been trying to respond with couldn't be articulated. Perhaps McGongall could explain when they had their scotch.

~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Harry's head fell forward as the front door of the Weasley-Granger residence finally opened.

"What the-?" Ron said, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder to prevent him from stumbling. "Are you drunk?"

"Who is it, Ron?" came Hermione's voice from behind him.

"I'm not drunk," Harry said, righting himself and giving Hermione a small wave.

"Then why were you using your thick skull to knock on our door?" Ron said, ushering him inside.

"At two in the morning," Hermione added.

Harry stared at them blankly. "Well, I couldn't floo in, that would be rude."

Ron pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Just come in, you prat."

Harry followed them into the sitting room, immediately throwing himself down on the couch and placing his head in Hermione's lap. "I have a problem."

"You've got a few, yeah," Ron muttered, shoving Harry's feet away from his legs.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione said gently.

Harry let out a long, suffering sigh as he stared up at the ceiling. "It's Ginny."

His words were followed by a long stretch of silence. So long, in fact, that he sat up to look at them both in question. "What?"

They seemed to be communicating silently in that way that Harry loathed, so he tried again. "What?" he said louder this time.

Ron was the first to break the silence. "Er...why don't you just explain what's wrong."

Harry frowned. "Right...well, erm...the thing is," he said, feeling oddly nervous all of a sudden. "I've been seeing Ginny a lot more than usual lately, and…I'm sort of, maybe, possibly, starting to feel things for her again, perhaps."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and sighed softly. "Yes, we thought this might happen."

"What do you mean?" Harry said in surprise. "And why do you look so upset by it?"

"Well, see...when Ginny came to me about her problem, I tried my best to help her before turning her over to you," Hermione explained carefully. "The thing is, Harry, you're both in such a vulnerable place, and we all know about the messy history between you two. We figured that with Ginny's husband and the broom incident, and then Gabby and that centaur's Radioactive Remembrall rolling right-"

"Stop, just…stop," Harry said, putting a hand up. "What are you even trying to say right now?"

Harry looked back and forth between the two before standing up in a huff. He paced in front of them for a moment, one hand on his waist, the other running repeatedly through his hair.

"Harry, mate…" Ron said carefully. "We love you both, we just don't want you two to end up hurting each other again."

"So you admit it?" Harry said, coming to a stop. "You admit that you were worried I'd have feelings for Ginny again."

"We were worried you'd both have feelings again," Hermione said. "You and Ginny have been through so much this year, you have to understand-"

"Hold on," Harry said suddenly, throwing up a timeout signal with his hands. "Is this why you didn't tell me about Bighead's big head exploding? Like, all that aside, you realize I called this. His head got bigger and bigger until the first major contact happened and then it exploded!"

"Harry-"

"You're a semi-competent healer, Hermione," he said, cutting her off. "Even you should know heads don't just explode every time they hit a piece of metal. It's not a very common cause of death. It must've been so filled with hot air that it popped like the overinflated balloon it was."

"Harry Potter-!"

"Why don't we all just settle down and circle back a bit," Ron said, placing a calming hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"Yes, let's!" Harry said, throwing a glare in Ron's direction now. "You didn't tell me about Bighead Garçon because-what? You thought I'd swoop in and try to steal Ginny once I realized she was available?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Hermione said, tone sharp.

"You've got this all wrong," Ron said, shaking his head.

"Then someone please explain what the bloody hell you're trying to say!"

Silence.

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other once more before both looking at Harry.

He swallowed hard at the intensity in their gazes.

"What we're trying to say is...you're just not good for each other," Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper. "And yet...you can't seem to stay away."

Harry looked to Ron, hoping to find something in his eyes that mirrored the anger Harry was feeling. But there was nothing there but sadness.

"You're wrong," Harry said to them both. "You are so wrong, it's not even funny. I'm not the same person I used to be. And neither is Ginny. And if we wanted one more real go at things, then that's none of your damn business."

"And do you, Harry?" Hermione said earnestly. "Do you and Ginny truly want to give it another go? Have you even talked with her about this?"

"I-no, we haven't talked about it."

Hermione nodded her head as if expecting that answer and it only served to infuriate Harry more.

"You're both adults, we realize that," Ron said, seeming to sense Harry's mood. "At the end of the day, it's your decision. We're just concerned, that's all."

Harry swallowed back a retort and sat down on the table behind him, staring down at his clasped hands. "I can't remember the last time I laughed," he said quietly, twisting his fingers for lack of anything better to do. "Ever since Gabby and the Grotesquely Gregarious Garden Gnome, and-well, you know the story. Ever since then, I've been miserable."

Harry looked back up at them. "Until Ginny," he said, his throat a bit scratchy. "I've no idea if she feels the same way about me. But I don't care, I just...I want her in my life. Anyway I can have her."

Hermione and Ron shared a look before nodding.

"Then we won't stand in your way," Ron said.

Harry nodded as well. "Thanks," he said. "But I just have to make sure I don't stand in my way, first."

~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~

Ginny sighed as she continued to peel carrot after carrot.

"Oh, I know that sigh, Ginevra."

Her lips tightened as she placed the peeled carrot down and grabbed the next one. Another sigh escaped her lips as she shifted her weight from her left foot to her right.

"You might be an adult, but you're still my baby girl. So get that weight off your shoulders and share it with me already," her mother said while setting her wand to dice the onions.

"Fine," Ginny mumbled, feeling fifteen years old all over again. "It's...about Harry."

"Of course it is, dear."

A warm hand reached over and brushed down her head and then rubbed her back.

"It's just, we're seeing each other more regularly again, and it's dragging up old feelings," she said, grateful that her mother was staying silent and listening patiently. "It's been over a year now...is it too soon to be thinking, feeling these things?"

"There's no schedule for this sort of thing, love," her mother said, placing a palm to Ginny's cheek. "Your heart's started to beat again, but the loss of a loved one never truly goes away. It just becomes a part of who you are."

"I know," she replied, thinking of Fred. "I know."

"Then you also know it does get easier. But seeing your old crush regularly again is bound to bring things up."

Ginny frowned as she considered her mother's words. "I just don't know, Mum," she said, leaning back against the worktop. "I mean, he's still an insufferable arse. But he's always been there for me. Even now, at our worst. I needed him, and he swooped in, coming to my rescue. And there isn't a single part of me that thinks he won't be able to fix me."

"He's a wonderful healer, a wonderful man."

Ginny reached for the next carrot but realized the basket was empty and then let out a defeated sigh. "I still have feelings for him," she said, finally admitting the words aloud. "But it went so horribly last time, we became like strangers. Would I just be setting myself up for another doomed relationship? Would I just be hurting Harry, again? I don't want to lose him, Mum. No matter what, I can't go back to how things were. I just can't!"

"Oh, Ginny," her mother said, wrapping her arms around her in a warm hug. "You're not the same young woman you once were," she told her with a weight of words that only came with age and wisdom. "And he's not the same young man."

"I know," she said, her voice muffled by her mother's embrace. "I just thought we'd be like you and Dad, you know? Hogwarts sweethearts that date, get engaged and then marry. We'd have adorable little children, a green-eyed girl with red hair and a brown-eyed boy with black hair. We'd live happily ever after, just like everyone expected..." She let her words fall off with another sigh.

"What have I told you about comparing your life to mine? It was more difficult for you two. Harry had been through so much already at that point," her mother said. "He needed time to discover who he was without conflict, he just didn't realize it then."

"I know, I know, I see that now. He would never have broken up with me, no matter how miserable he was. If I'd never ended things, we'd probably be together still."

Molly tucked Ginny's head in closer and ran a comforting hand down her hair and across her back, over and over again. "But then you'd have never met your husband and had the time with him that you did. And neither would Harry and Gabby," she said firmly. "You know I still can't believe it sometimes. The Brobdingnagian Beach Ball and that Frightfully Ferocious Feather. It just doesn't mak-"

"Mum, so not the time," Ginny said, leaning her head back to stare up at her mother. Merlin, even now Harry was overshadowing her.

"Of course, of course, my apologies, dear," Molly said with amusement before stepping back and grasping her shoulders. "The point is, the last time you and Harry dated it was poor timing. He had his own journey to go on, and you were still growing up as well. Life took you in different directions and that was okay."

Ginny gave a warm smile to her mother, grateful as always for her words of wisdom that always gave her something to think about.

They both went back to preparing the meal after that. But one thought stayed on her mind as she enjoyed the simplicity of making a home cooked meal.

Was now the right time for her and Harry?

~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~

The moon was exceptionally bright tonight, nearly full. The stars were shining and nary a cool breeze was in the sky.

Harry was laying back with his shoulders and head resting against the sturdy tree trunk behind him. His light blue shirt catching the moonlight, almost appearing to be white. He looked to his right. This wasn't the time or place he'd thought to bring it up, but as the saying went, there was no time like the present.

"I know what's going on with your flying problem."

Ginny's head snapped up, her luscious locks reflecting the light. "You do?"

"It's your magic."

"My magic?" she repeated, doubt clear in her voice. "But the other healers and Hermione said it wasn't."

"Of course they did. That's what their test results confirmed," Harry said with a nod. "But they didn't take you for a flight in a controlled environment first, did they?"

"Controlled environment?"

Harry sighed inwardly at the parroting of questions. He'd forgive her this small blunder for now, it was a high-stakes moment. "The most comfortable of circumstances imaginable."

Ginny frowned. "Most comfortable of circumstances imaginable?"

Harry sighed outwardly. "Yep. At Hogwarts. On the best broom available with the best natural flier you've ever met."

She raised an eyebrow. "You mean with an antique and an old quidditch has-been."

"Are you saying you'd have rather flown with someone else that day?"

Ginny shook her head, the moonlight lighting up her gorgeous red hair.

"When you grabbed onto the broom, you were at war with yourself. You consciously knew you were fine, flying with me, but unconsciously your magic was fighting to stop it. Thus, it felt like a jinx, until you took your hands off."

Ginny didn't respond, absentmindedly rubbing one hand over the back of the other as she considered his words.

"Your magic isn't the issue. Your magic is responding to you; it's why Daphne Greengrass's study on the Importance of Intent was groundbreaking. You'll be able to fly once you subconsciously stop punishing yourself for the accident."

Harry placed his hand on Ginny's shoulder. "I blamed myself for Gabby. I mean, I know there was nothing I could've done about the Conceivably Cocky Cockatrice, but the Rampaging Randy Roomba was-"

"There was nothing you could have done," Ginny said, placing her hand atop his. "Fleur told me about the Famed Famished Flesh-eating Fanged Frisbee and the Dumbfoundingly Docile Demonic Dust Buster and how they-"

Harry held up his hand. "We can chat about that later. Now is the time for you. Until you've reconciled your part in the accident, you won't be able to move past it."

~~WANGST~~

Ginny stared at him, her lips parted, breaths coming out a bit shallow. "No. No you're wrong, it can't be that," she said, shaking her head quickly. "That's so...that's so...it's just so…"

"So…?" Harry said, leaning closer towards her.

She shut her eyes and let out a loud exhale. "It's so true," she whispered. "I'm the one that killed him, Harry. Me. Professional Quidditch player, Holyhead's superstar chaser. Flying straight into a goalpost and killing her husband."

Harry sighed. "Ginny, look at me."

She shook her head again.

"Come on," he said gently, lifting her chin up. "Look at me when I tell you this."

"What," she mumbled, finally opening her eyes.

Harry lowered his head so their gaze could meet. "Life is filled with variables, things that we cannot control no matter how much we yearn to," he said, rubbing her chin softly with his thumb. "If you knew what was going to happen that day, would you have flown anywhere near those goalposts?"

"Absolutely not," Ginny said, feeling a lump growing in her throat.

"Would you have gone on that broom ride?"

"No."

"Would you have fallen in love and married a man with an obnoxiously big head if you knew you'd only have another year with him?"

At this, Ginny let out a watery chuckle. "Of course I would, you prat," she said. "I would do it all over again in a heartbeat."

Harry nodded, giving her a gentle smile. "Exactly," he said. "You'd marry him again because that was in your control."

Ginny swallowed hard.

"Life, unfortunately, is not," he said, placing a hand against her cheek and wiping away a tear. "But that's not your fault, Ginny. It could never be your fault."

She placed her hand atop his and brushed her thumb over it, feeling a long forgotten emotion brewing inside her-familiar like an old friend. Yet different all together.

Ginny cleared her throat. "Right, well...maybe we should test your theory out?"

Harry chuckled, summoned his broom and then offered it up to her. "Feel like taking me up?"

"What-now?" she said, suddenly feeling a bit nervous.

"If not now, then when? May as well sort this out," Harry said, swinging his leg over the broom and gesturing for her to climb on.

Ginny took in a deep breath and nodded, playing Harry's words from earlier in her mind.

Not your fault. Not your fault. Not your fault.

She walked over and perched herself on the broom in front of him, settling back a bit so she felt him behind her.

"No charms here, no precautions. You won't need them." He gently pulled her chin around and looked into her eyes, "I trust you, Gin."

Ginny gulped and nodded. "Okay, but if you die, promise not to be mad at me."

Harry considered her request for a moment. "What if I come back as a ghost and haunt you?"

"Haunt me, specifically, or just the PIMMPLE?" Ginny said. "I know you love messing with your patients."

Harry quirked his head in thought. "Well, I love messing with you, as well. So, definitely both. Probably visit McGonagall while I'm at it and haunt some firsties, too."

Ginny grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "I'm sure Myrtle would love that. You could share a toilet-you brooding, her crying. A match made in hell."

Harry shuddered. "On second thought," he said, rubbing the back of his head, "you might have to go on without me then."

Ginny laughed. "Okay, okay, I promise I'll try not to kill you."

"That's all I ask," Harry said.

She took another breath in and then kicked up off the ground, shooting upwards.

The air was exhilarating, cool and crisp, the moon and stars lit up the night sky. Her heart pounded in her chest, but all she could feel was freedom. As she turned into a dive, she felt Harry's arms wrap around her, the warmth feeling as good as the cool air whipping through her hair.

"You're doing great!" Harry said in her ear after several more successful maneuvers. "Now try a little less weight!"

"Wha-?"

Ginny whipped her head around as Harry abruptly fell off the broom.

"HARRY!" she screamed as she watched him free fall like a sack of potatoes, the stupid Potter lopsided grin on his face. Ginny cranked the broom around and shot down into a steep dive, trying to reach him before he hit the ground.

She managed to stretch out her arm and grab his seconds later. "YOU BLOODY IDIOT, GRAB ON!"

"What?" Harry called out, cupping a hand to his ear, his body swinging back and forth in the wind.

"GRAB ONTO THE BROOM!"

"Why?" he asked.

"SO YOU DON'T BLOODY DIE, YOU SANCTIMONIOUS GIT!"

Harry visibly sighed as if she were doing him a great disservice by saving his life, and then reached out with his other arm to grip the broom.

Ginny was trying to get his attention to tell him to swing his leg over but the prat was simply staring at his fingers, as if seeing them for the first time.

"Curious…" he said, taking one hand off the broom to get a better look before taking off the other.

Ginny quickly grabbed him by the back of his cloak so he wouldn't go plummeting to his death once more.

"What is?" she said through gritted teeth, trying to pull him up herself.

"Long Fingers really did hit the lottery with those hands," he said, wiggling his own fingers. "In an actual life-or-death scenario, I might've been done for."

Ginny was very close to bucking him off the broom herself. But a second later, Harry gracefully swung his leg up and hopped on behind her.

She then swiftly brought them back down to the ground, threw the broom aside and grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt. "What. The. Hell. Was. That?" she said, punctuating every word with a rough shake.

"Ah, yes, you see," Harry said, carefully peeling her fingers off him. "I lied before. About the no charms or precautions thing."

"What?"

Harry gave her an embarrassed smile. "I know, it was silly," he said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "But in my defense...did you really think I'd risk the life of a patient, let alone your life?"

"So you didn't actually trust me?" Ginny said, feeling her ears burning with anger.

"I did," Harry said, nodding earnestly. "But on the off-chance that you couldn't forgive yourself completely, I thought I'd give you another chance to."

"Or maybe you just didn't want to die!" she said, pointing an accusing finger at him.

"Ginny, the last broom we rode together exploded. If I was concerned for my safety I wouldn't have gotten on a broom with you in the first place."

Ginny had nothing to say to that, but she couldn't help the scowl that was still on her face. "Fine," she said. "But you could have done without the dramatics. You arse...always bloody stealing the spotlight, even now."

Harry shook his head solemnly. "You've got it all wrong, Ginny," he said. "I jumped off to give you your moment."

He pulled the sleeves of his robe up above his wrists and withdrew his wand with a flourish. Without a word, he raised it up high, causing a great spotlight to emit from the sky; it shone directly onto Ginny and the broomstick she was still straddling.

"Go on, Gin, spotlight is on you now," Harry said meaningfully. "Have your moment."

The affection and sincerity in his words made a shiver run up her spine.

She exhaled, shut her eyes, and then took another deep breath in. With practiced ease she kicked off the ground and went soaring through the sky, the spotlight never failing to follow her.

Minute after minute, turn after turn, dive after dive, she tore through the cool air with fearless abandon. A sense of profound joy rekindling within her very being.

This is what she loved doing.

This is where she belonged.

It was euphoric.

Her body, magic and mind all working in flawless harmony again.

How long she flew, how long Harry kept the light shining on her, she didn't know. There was a deep yearning to just let go and soar, a thirst that demanded to be quenched. Nothing in the world could stop her now.

Nothing.

"Doing great, Ginny!" Harry called from somewhere far below.

Ginny felt her breath catch in her throat, nearly forgetting for a moment that he was even there.

Harry. The most incencing, infuriating, and maddenly marvelous man she'd ever known. The one who-even though it annoyed her to admit it-was the reason she was up here today.

The sole reason Ginny was able to do what she'd always been born to do.

With that thought in mind, she descended out of the sky and ended up several feet away from the man in question in her rush to land.

Ginny ran towards him; she knew she had a hard, blazing look on her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the future, Ginny kissed him.

After several long moments-or it might have been a half hour-or several sunlit days-they broke apart. The creature in Ginny's chest purred in satisfaction, her arms and legs still wrapped around Harry.

"This feels familiar." Harry smiled into their still touching lips.

"Does it?" Ginny said, one eyebrow raised. "If I remember, you were a terrible kisser back then."

"Couldn't have been that bad, you didn't cry like Cheerless Chang did."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, all we're missing now are the wolf whistles and awkward silence."

Harry hummed in agreement. "Could do with some fireworks, too."

"Did someone say fireworks?" said a voice from out of nowhere.

Harry and Ginny whipped their heads around to find the entire Weasley clan staring at them with broad smiles on their faces.

"What's going on?" Ginny said as she slid off Harry and stood beside him, his arm falling across her shoulders.

"What?" George said with a shrug. "You shine a broad blinding beam of light in the garden and expect us not to notice?"

"We're so happy for you, dears," Molly called from the doorway, waving her hand at them.

"Harry, we were wrong and you were right!" his two best friends said in unison. Hermione was beaming and Ron gave a look of 'well-if you must'.

The creature in Ginny's chest roared in triumph.

"I still think you're a dickhead, Potter!" Bill shouted.

"Gabby would be very happy for you, Harry," Fleur added. "If it were not for the Piteously Pathological Pontificating Pygmy Puff and the Scintillatingly Salacious Sacred Saharan Slinky-"

Bill nodded in agreement. "Let's not forget about the Dubiously Delectable Derogating Deviled Dust Bunny and the Effervescent Evisceratingly Egalitarian Electric Eel that-"

"You're forgetting about the Yachtsman's Yokelish Yellow Yaffingale Yearling," Hermione and Ron said in unison. "And the Zesty Zoftig Zoophagous Zimbabwean Zebra-"

But before they could finish, a sudden, bombastic blast echoed throughout the garden.

"Did someone say fireworks!" George shouted again.

"No!" Ginny said. "No one said fireworks. No one ever says fireworks! We. Don't. Want. Fireworks!"

But everyone else's heads shot up to see the colourful array of Weasley's Wildfire Whiz-bangs lighting up the night sky, a loud chorus of oohs and ahhs drowning out Ginny's protests.

She sighed to herself and turned to Harry, smiling softly at the child-like wonder on his face.

"Hey," she said, nudging his shoulder.

Harry turned to look at her, nothing but love shining in his eyes. And she stared back at him-her childhood crush, her friend, her first time lover, enemy, lover, enemy, and lover again.

"I love you, Harry," she said.

"I love you, Ginny," he said. "Let's go shag."

"Let's," Ginny agreed before pausing in thought. "Huh, well...I guess Tracey was right, then. I did just want you to help me ride your broomstick in the end."

At that, the entire Weasley clan stood up and applauded the third-chance lovers as they left hand in hand to go shag.

~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~

"Why did you drag me here again?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "All you wanted to do was sit out on a patio and drink Orange Juice."

"So?"

"So?" Ginny arched her eyebrow. "So? You're asking me why we're here, inside, when there is a torrential downpour outside?"

"S'not like we couldn't have just charmed ourselves a dry bit of patio."

"Dry or not, I'm not sitting out in the rain. We can drink our Orange Juice inside while we watch the ballet. It's Natalia Pavlova starring in-"

"Don't care. Pansy Princess is a two-bit performer. I've met her-her worthless team couldn't even deal with a sprained ankle."

"You know, if you'd just listened to Bruno, we could have been on the patio yesterday, when it was all sunny and warm."

Harry scoffed. "He's always trying to be Overly Helpful. I can check the weather myself, thanks."

Ginny gave him a knowing look. "Just because you were miffed that Nikita was trying to hire him away, doesn't mean you should discard his advice."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I didn't even know what they wanted, they were speaking Spanish, you know I don't speak that. Besides, it's Brazilian Beta, he'll be here when we visit next."

"You don't know that," Ginny said, crossing her arms. "One day he might get so sick of your antics that he'll refuse to be Overly Helpful for you ever again."

Harry chuckled and shook his head. "That's cute, Ginny," he said. "But that would never happen. He'll be here every time we come back to Brazil. Especially on our honeymoon."

At the mention of their future plans, Ginny gave Harry a warm smile and leaned in towards him.

Harry placed a kiss on her head before handing her a glass of Orange Juice. Then he raised his glass of Orange Juice and she did the same.

"To a honeymoon in Brazil," Harry said.

Ginny stared lovingly at her new fiance, her best friend, and childhood sweetheart. "Cheers, I'll drink to that."

~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~ ~~WANGST~~

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Nikita and all of you wangsters-you know who you are.

It's also dedicated to the last remaining employee of SatTal Studios who bravely soldiered on when all others tragically died in the annual 'Who Can Catch the Famed Famished Flesh-eating Fanged Frisbee?' contest. They may be gone but their sacrifice is not forgotten.

This story is not dedicated to Petrificus Somewhatus, who refused to write the promised outtake for this fic. Due to deeply devastating emotional damage, we have been forced to scrap the Harmony chapter that would have been dedicated to him. All Harmony notes have been burned in the lowest depth of the seven hells of SalTal Headquarters in Eucla, Australia.

We would also like to thank Nauze for his tireless efforts in delaying yet another chapter of this fic. And we would also like to still blame Nauze for ending scurvy in Eucla-Eucla's only other company, a Scurvy Remedy Clinic has now gone out of business.

All 700 employees are now fighting to their deaths in a SalTal sponsored Sports Day.

A huge thanks also goes out to Mrs. Saliient91, who picked up the reigns of the beta carriage after SalTal Studios suspended Petrificus Somewhatus for outright refusing to write the contractually obligated outtake.

And finally, we would like to still blame Baba Yetu for prematurely outing our anagrammed names. Thankfully after several bouts of therapy, multiple visits to the spa, and an endless supply of chocolate cake, SalTal authors Salient Causality and Taliesin19 have decided to return to the original plans of writing a multi-chapter fic.

You Stay Classy Eucla!


	3. Outtake 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As one of the few living employees remaining at Sal-Tal Studios (Eucla 4Ever) I was requested/conscripted to submit a chapter portraying a typical day in the life at PIMMPLE. Regardless of whether you actually enjoy this installment, I am asking you to please follow/favorite/review as my life literally depends on it if my employment contract is to be believed.
> 
> Indenturedly yours,
> 
> Petrificus Somewhatus
> 
> A/N/N: Happy anniversary to our homies over at Sal-Tal Studios Server. Can’t believe it’s been a whole year, feels like 4 months and 5 days since the server was first created.
> 
> Now enjoy this gift from Petri to you. 
> 
> -Tal

**Performance Review**

Hermione was profoundly aware of the _ tick tick ticking _ of the nearby clock as she waited for her partner to arrive.

_ Partner _

Who was she kidding? He was a child; a supremely gifted, exceedingly brilliant, somewhat charming, and thoroughly self-absorbed child. Sometimes she’d wished the troll had finished her off in first year to spare her from the nonsense the succeeding years had wrought. 

Well that wasn’t quite true. Harry was still a fierce, albeit flaky friend. But as a business partner he was awful. Horribly inefficient and perpetually lazy, he skated by on his brilliant skill and keen intellect. If not for the fact that his medical prowess and last name were virtual goldmines she would have ended their partnership years ago. 

So to get the rainbow she had to suffer through a bit of rain from time to time. And relying on Harry to show up for, let alone actively participate in, a work meeting always resulted in a torrential downpour of aggravation.

He was always very dutiful at showing up for his clinic hours, she could rightfully dock his pay for that transgression, but all other appointments and requests were a crapshoot at best. She hadn’t been able to decide if Harry would show up in person to torture her this particular morning or would choose to make her suffer from afar. Regardless of which route Harry chose it was sure to be aggravating.

She looked at the clock.

8:57 am

She’d know in a few minutes whether the idiot would be attending their scheduled meeting. If he was going to actually deign to grace them with his presence, he would pop into the room exactly two seconds before the meeting. Not five minutes early…or a few minutes late…two seconds. Always two seconds. Just to annoy her. The worst part was she knew he did it to annoy her. And she knew that he knew that she knew and yet it still annoyed her. It was very annoying

But that wasn’t the most annoying part of Harry’s punctuality. The most annoying part was when he didn’t show up at all. It was her fault really. Harry was very intelligent, very observant, and an utter arse when he wanted to be. Those three factors all came into play a few years prior when she’d lectured him for not showing up for a specific appointment. She had gone a bit longer and been a bit harsher than necessary and concluded her lecture with the phrase that would haunt her for all eternity.

“At the very least you should be considerate and let me know ahead of time.”

It was a thoroughly benign, exceedingly fair request to make of a normal, considerate human being. But when Harryhad smiled, she knew she was doomed. She’d said the magic words ( _ at the very least _ ) and Harry had seized on them immediately. From that point on Harry’s ‘notification’ was consistent, aggravating, and met the absolute minimum requirement to be classified as ‘considerate.’

She felt the paper airplane hit the side of her head precisely one second before the meeting alarm sounded. One second. Whether he’d never planned on attending or something had come up at the last minute, it was always one second. And it was always delivered via a stupid muggle paper airplane. Hermione wasn’t sure how he managed it but, despite knowing exactly when to expect it, she never saw the blooming thing coming.

Hermione ignored Tracey’s snort of amusement. She was in charge and it was important that Tracey respected her! Hermione did her best to hide her annoyance and quickly read Harry’s note.

_ Can’t make it today. Ginny’s had a setback with her flying so I’m doing a bit of research. It appears that she’s having trouble sorting out her Intent at the moment. Of course that’s just a theory. I have a lot of research hours in store for me, unfortunately. _

_ Of course _ it had to do with Ginny.

Hermione had hoped for years that Harry would find that special someone, settle down, and become a bit more responsible and considerate. But that hadn’t happened…at all. If anything he had dragged his partners down to his exceedingly low level. 

First it was Gabrielle; kind, sweet, departed entirely too soon, Gabrielle. At least the girl  _ had  _ been kind and sweet; until Harry had sunk his soul bonded hooks into her. Then she became shallow and irresponsible…the idiotic yin to Harry’s imbecilic yang. But even with how much Harry had corrupted the girl, Hermione was glad that they had found each other. She, along with everyone else, had been enchanted by their epic romance and had looked forward to many future installments of the Harry and Gabby story. But alas, that was not to be. The author of their particular tale had been a proper unfeeling bastard.

To this day she had no idea how the girl had actually died. Whenever the topic came up Harry would make some idiotic, alliterative comment, vaguely alluding to the cause of her demise. First it was something to do with a Boggart, then a Howler…and on and on the stupid, ridiculous, annoying, overly long list went. This was the supposed love of his life! His literal soul mate…bonded by magic for eternity (eleven months). How could he be so callous and dismissive after the epic tale that was their love story? One minute Harry was spending a disturbingly large amount of time angsting in a graveyard and the next he had thoroughly and utterly moved on.

Hermione had made countless comments about how much she’d missed Gabrielle and how disheartening his casual dismissal of the woman and her death had been, but they’d all fallen on seemingly deaf ears. After less than a year of mourning the insensitive jokes began to flow and Harry simply moved on to Ginny.

Ginny. Her supposed best female friend and founding member of the  _ Harry Potter is an Awful, Awful Person and also Supremely Annoying _ club. But now, not only had the traitor resigned from the club, Ginny had actually joined him in his atrocious behavior. Was Harry’s secret plan in life to systematically dismantle all of the female friendships she’d made over the years? Who was next? Luna? Fleur? Molly? Professor McGonagall? Her own mother? She would put none of it past Harry. 

Harry  _ settling down  _ had actually had the opposite effect that she’d hoped for. Not only did he skive off his responsibilities as much or more than he used to, now he had an additional treasure trove of excuses for his responsibility shirking. 

_ Research _ . Oh how she had come to despise that word over the years thanks to Harry.

His partners’ magical maladies, which he’d already diagnosed and solved, were constantly mined as a resource to be a lazy, inconsiderate, arse. All in the name of  _ research.  _ The worst part was, because both cases were unprecedented, she had no facts at her disposal to dispute his claims, regardless of how flimsy the research topic actually was.

Researching the effects of touch on his bond with Gabrielle…or distance…or the winter solstice…or the summer solstice…drinking cold orange juice versus drinking lukewarm orange juice…the idiotic list went on and on. And once Gabrielle was gone, Ginny’s condition seamlessly and effortlessly assumed the role of never ending excuse generator.

His favorite nonsense buzzword to use over the last few years was  _ Intent _ , simply because he knew how much it annoyed her. Why or how Daphne Greengrass had become so renowned and lauded for stating the exceedingly obvious fact that Intent was important to magic was infuriating to her. Not only did he go out of his way to use the wretched term, Harry always capitalized it regardless of how it was being used. Even when Harry spoke the word she could practically  _ hear _ the ‘I’ being stated in uppercase.

She knew it was all nonsense, but Gabrielle and Ginny always backed up his stupid stories when she’d confronted them about Harry’s laziness and irresponsibility. Most infuriatingly, every time she slipped and actually said the word _ research, _ they would chuckle a bit more. Why was it that everyone in Harry’s orbit became awful through osmosis merely by associating with him? And they all took up his practice of uttering annoying alliterations at all apt and ancillary opportunities. How was she the only one who noticed? Only Bill seemed to have the right of it. Her best friend was an utter dickhead.

She glanced at the clock once again. 

9:05

She’d only spent five minutes mentally complaining about Harry. Much better. Her therapist would be pleased with her progress.

With her requisite morning ‘complain about Harry’ session over and done with, it was time to deal with her other work related nemesis. Tracey Davis.

Her employee was sat directly across from her, patiently biding her time and reading the same issue of  _ Witch Weekly _ she’d perused last year at this time; the one with the headline blaring  _ How To Deal With An Overbearing Boss _ . There had been some noticeable changes made since last year, however. The headline was flashing now and alternating between several colors, all hideously bright and irritating. And Tracey, presumably with Harry’s input and assistance, had added a few smaller headlines to spice things up a bit from last year’s version. 

_ Daphne Greengrass: How the Brightest Witch of Her Generation Intentionally Captured the Hearts and Minds of the Wizarding World _

That one had Harry Potter written all over it.

_ Are You Too Uptight? 5 Steps to Remove That Wand You’ve Got Stuck Up Your- _

Well that was just wildly inappropriate. That meant it was Tracey’s contribution.

_ You’re the professional and they are just words, _ she told herself as she purposely cleared her throat and smiled pleasantly at her nemesis/coworker.

“Unfortunately Harry won’t be able to make it today so I will be handling your annual performance review by myself,  _ again.” _

Tracey placed the magazine aside and smiled at her pleasantly. Was Tracey’s pleasant expression as insincere and forced as her own effort? Probably.

“As you know, in an attempt to make this evaluation as fair and informative as possible we, that is to say,  _ I _ , have ranked your performance in several key categories on a scale of 1 to 5. A score of 5 would indicate that you are operating at peak performance with no discernable areas of improvement while a score of 1 would indicate that you are performing extremely poorly and could be subject to immediate termination without significant improvement. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Tracey replied pleasantly. She was good.

“Very good!” Hermione falsely enthused, “we, that is to say,  _ I _ , asked you to perform a self-evaluation ranking your own performance. Did you bring your self-evaluation form with you?”

“Of course,’ Tracey enthused brightly. Before she could react, Hermione felt a clipboard repeatedly tapping the back of her head. 

She should have seen that coming.

Hermione quickly grabbed the clipboard and bit back the scream of frustration she so desperately wanted to let loose as she examined the form.

“You’ve ranked yourself as a 5 in every category,  _ again _ , despite my request for you not to do so. Do you recall me explicitly and repeatedly asking you  _ not  _ to do that again this year?”

“Oh, that’s right. My apologies,” Tracey offered as she grabbed the clipboard and eyed the document critically. After several minutes of examination she handed the clipboard back. 

It was much easier to fight off the scream this time as Hermione had anticipated the change. 

“I see you’ve changed your ranking in one category from 5 to 4. So the only area where you believe you could improve is in…Cleanliness.”

Tracey smiled. “I remember I left the coffee filters on the counter one day instead of placing them back in the pre-designated area you had assigned them in the cabinet. But other than that, I can’t think of anything,” she answered with an innocent shrug.

Hermione glanced at the clock once again. 

9:15. 

She’d made it ten minutes into Tracey’s review without screaming. That was a full five minutes longer than she’d managed last year. Her therapy was really paying off. She could do this.

Well, seeing as you’ve declared yourself perfect in almost every way let’s move onto your general comments about working here. Should I read them aloud to refresh your memory?”

“Absolutely,” Tracey enthused.

“ _ I don’t like the color of the walls in Reception _ and  _ I make good coffee _ .” 

“Hmm…as I recall you made the same comment about Reception last year and we repainted it to your specifications. Are you no longer happy with the off-white color that  _ you _ specifically asked for?”

Tracey pretended to consider the question before answering. “I was hoping for something slightly more off I suppose. An  _ off _ , off-white would be much better.”

Hermione gritted out a smile. “Well, seeing as that color most likely doesn’t exist I’m afraid you are just going to have to suffer with the off-white.”

“It’s fine,” Tracey offered. “It’s the least I can do for PIMMPLE.”

“It’s not called-“ Hermione blurted automatically before stopping herself. Tracey was using Harry’s stupid acronym for the clinic just to annoy her, but it wouldn’t work. She glanced at the clock once again. 

9:20. Five more victorious minutes.

“Let’s move onto my evaluation shall we?” she asked, drawing a disappointed nod from Tracey. It was clear that Tracey had expected her to be angrier by now. Hermione was winning!

“Ideally I would have a completed evaluation from Harry as well but since he’s-“

She was interrupted as another paper airplane crashed into her forehead. It was from the idiot. Hermione unfolded the paper and realized it was Harry’s evaluation of Tracey. Unsurprisingly, he had also rated her 5 in all areas except for one: Cleanliness. That category had garnered a rating of 4 with the following explanation.

_ Tracey left the coffee filters on the counter one day instead of placing them back in the pre-designated area you had assigned them in the cabinet. _

So not only had the bastard purposely not shown up, he was more than likely nearby and listening in an effort to annoy her as much as possible. She resolved to not let their critique of her organizational system get to her because she knew they were objectively wrong. Outlining specific areas in the kitchen cabinet for each and every item was a perfectly normal and reasonable thing to do to optimize the efficiency of the space available and provide a quick and-

Hermione stopped herself from defensively spiraling once again. She remembered her therapist’s advice to focus on the positive things in her life when the stress and anxiety became too much. She closed her eyes and focused on the clinic’s monthly financial ledgers. 

Much better.

After gathering herself, her eyes roamed to the bottom of the page to read Harry’s general comments:

_ Tracey is good at nursing things. She is also good at making coffee. She keeps a positive attitude in spite of the sub-optimal off-whiteness of Reception _ .

Fifteen more years…fifteen more years of leveraging Harry’s medical acumen and celebrity for their clinic and then she and Ron would be set for life. She could leave the practice for Harry and Tracey to burn to the ground due to their ineptitude and she could focus on her academic research. Daphne Greengrass was living on borrowed time because one day she would expose her for the fraud that she was and Hermione would take her rightful place-

Another forceful cough from Tracey brought her back out of her  _ visualization _ .

“Right, sorry about that. Let’s move on to my review, shall we?” she suggested as she reduced Harry’s form to ash with a wandless and silent  _ Incendio _ . The amount of idiotic missives from Harry over the years had made her remarkably adept at the spell.

“In the category of Cleanliness I also rated you at a 4-” 

“I’m really sorry about the filters,” Tracey interrupted insincerely. “It won’t happen again.”

She purposely ignored her.

“Moving onto ‘Thoroughness and Attention to Detail’, I’ve ranked you as a 4, which, as you know, indicates your performance is above average but still has room for improvement.”

“That’s not fair,” Tracey protested. “Two years ago you scored me lower because a few patient files were missing their admission forms. I’ve gone out of my way since then to ensure an admission form is completed for every patient visit.”

Hermione took a breath. 

“When I made that comment my hope was you would put in  _ slightly _ more effort in making sure that the  _ initial  _ patient admission forms were completed and filed appropriately. I did not intend for you to force our patients to fill the same form out every visit and I certainly didn’t intend or hope that you would assault our patients with clipboards until they complied.”

Tracey sat back and folded her arms. “ _ Assault _ seems a bit harsh, don’t you think? And have you found any missing forms during your quarterly audits of the patient files since I took your advice?”

“I didn’t advise you to-“

Hermione stopped herself and took a calming breath, silently celebrating as Tracey’s face fell in disappointment. She’d almost had her there. Hermione began once again.

“No,” she replied as calmly as she could manage, “in fact, I’ve had to put expansion charms on the filing cabinets because they are overflowing with unnecessary additional copies of the  _ initial _ admission form.”

“So I’ve been very thorough and attentive to detail. That rates a 5 in my book. If anything you should be marking me down in the ‘Attitude and Demeanor toward Patients’ category.”

“Fine,” Hermione grit out as she changed the score to a 5. “Based on that change, your score for Attitude and Demeanor is now a 2; below average and in need of improvement for continued employment.”

Tracey’s eyes narrowed. “You have to combine your score with Harry’s right? So that averages out to a 3.5?”

Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment.

“I can live with that,” Tracey stated with a satisfied smirk.

“Moving on,” Hermione grit out, “for ‘Problem Solving and Continuous Improvement’, I’ve ranked you at a 3.”

“Come on,” Tracey protested, “I went out of my way to solve the missing admission file thing-“

“By purposely aggravating our patients in the process-”

“ _ And _ ,” Tracey trudged on despite her interruption, “we ran out of sugar that one time and I increased our restocking order.”

“You know my feelings on sugar, not to mention the fact that your  _ solution  _ was to order ten years worth! That wasn’t a solution! You just came up with a new way of being lazy and forced me to reorganize the entire kitchen storage area!”

Tracey grinned triumphantly at her loss of control and Hermione cursed herself. Before she could look at the clock to document how long she had made it before losing her temper, another paper airplane crashed into her temple. 

The smart thing to do would be to  _ Incendio _ Harry’s note without reading it but she knew Harry. If she did that he would find out and then use it as an excuse to ignore any and every memo she sent going forward. She unfolded the note and girded herself.

_ I think Tracey is a lesbian. Can you ask her? _

Before she’d even thought to actually cast the spell the idiotic and highly inappropriate note was engulfed in flame. Importance of intent indeed…

Hermione decided she’d had enough and slid her evaluation across the desk.

“Right, I’m done. Do you have any questions about the three remaining categories?”

Tracey eyed her suspiciously as she processed Hermone’s words, clearly believing she was being tricked.

“If I don’t have any questions does that mean we are done?”

“Just sign on the bottom there,” Hermione mumbled.

“What’s my wage increase?”

“4%”

Tracey nodded her agreement and quickly signed. “In that case, I only have one question. Can I have the rest of the day off?”

Hermione glanced at the clock 

9:35. It was a Friday and they had a full docket of appointments starting in thirty minutes. It was Harry’s day off and if she granted Tracey’s request she would be forced to run the office all by herself. That was always a hectic and stressful undertaking and she would be thoroughly worn out by the end of the day. The choice was obvious.

“Absolutely,” she replied automatically.

“If it’s not too much trouble, could you start the coffee before-“

“Have a nice weekend, Hermione!” Tracey interrupted before popping out of sight.

Hermione sighed. She really needed coffee but she had never managed to make it nearly as well as Tracey. If she hustled she would have just enough time to pop down to the local café and grab a cup. Hermione quickly disavowed herself of that notion as she remembered the flighty waitress that worked there most mornings. After what she’d just suffered through she had no interest in dealing with the woman’s perky cheerfulness. She already paid for weekly therapy sessions, thank you very much, and didn’t need some pixie in muggle form offering free advice instead of just handing over her damn coffee.

She was spiraling again. Hermione quickly put the perky muggle and thoughts of coffee out of her mind, focusing instead on dashing out a quick note to Ron.

_ The meeting went exactly as bad I expected so I’m going to need you to come up with something brilliant for supper tonight. Also wine. Lots and lots of wine.  _

_ As discussed previously, I’m going to need you to refrain from the H, T, DG, R or I words. _

_ Hugs, _

_ Hermie _

_ P.S. Seriously. Wine. _

* * *

A/N: I would like to thank Saliient91 and Taliesin19 (aka SalTal) for allowing me to muck about in their playground. I would like to thank them but they are horrible people and I’m doing this entirely against my will and if there is anyone out there familiar with Eucla labor laws please help me. Having said that they graciously helped beta this installment and their stories are quite good, I suppose. 

Finally, a special shout-out to Nauze, the unfortunate soul who not only has to put up with SalTal’s nonsense but mine as well. He was the beta MVP of this little slice of nonsense so any errors are entirely his fault.


	4. PrimJax

Harry took a deep breath in, glanced down at his watch, and then let out a discontented sigh.

8:58 am. 

Two minutes until his shift started. One minute until Hermione’s charm would go off. 

“I see we’re early again, today,” a feminine voice remarked with faint disappointment as soon as he arrived at the clinic.

Harry bit back a response. “Tracey,” he greeted, holding his arm out.

She stared at him for a moment with distaste before handing him the files. 

His eyes narrowed as he looked between them and her. “That’s not coffee.”

“Astute observation,” she said.

“You normally give me coffee first, not files,” he said, blinking and looking at the not-a-coffee in his hand.

“Well, you normally arrive two seconds early, not two minutes,” she said with an uncaring shrug. “You’ve got time to make your own, now.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” she said with an overly sweet smile. 

He paused for a moment, not knowing how to respond. But Tracey seemed to take that as a cue to leave and turned to exit his office.

“Wait,” he said, still bewildered by this turn of events. “Just...you’re  _ seriously _ not making me coffee anymore?”

She rolled her eyes at his dramatics. “Perhaps when you’ve retrieved your balls from your  _ fiancé,  _ I’ll reconsider. I know she’s the one forcing you to be more punctual,” she said, scrunching up her nose in displeasure. “Hermione’s interference, no doubt. Maybe try and get your pecker back from her iron grip while you’re at it, too. You might very well start  _ enjoying  _ clinic duty, otherwise.”

Harry clenched his jaw and slapped his files on his desk with more force than necessary. “Good relationships are built on mutual compromise. Just because I’ve made a few concessions for Ginny, doesn’t mean she has any claim on my balls,” he said before pausing to take a breath and shaking his head. “I mean...you know what I--that’s not exactly true. But the point is, this has absolutely  _ nothing _ to do with Hermione.”

Tracey gave him an unimpressed look. “Well, alright then...tell me,” she said, crossing her arms. “What’s your least favourite type of patient to deal with?”

“Fangirls,” he replied at once.

She closed her eyes and nodded. “And how long has Hermione begged you to stop portkeying them to Saint Mungo’s?” she asked, looking at him with her head tilted to the side. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Since I started doing it,” he said, not seeing where this was leading.

“And when was the last time you did it?”

Harry frowned, struggling to remember. He could recall having a conversation with Ginny about it early on in their relationship, how he needed to be nicer to the young women who came in to see him. At the time, he hadn’t thought anything of it. But now...he was beginning to wonder how much of Ginny’s suggestions had been purely hers or from another source entirely. 

He opened his mouth to answer but his brain failed to supply him with the proper reply.

Tracey stared at him for a moment before letting out a small sigh. “Look...all I’m saying is, it’s always been an even battle,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You and I versus Hermione and the patients. And...well, there hasn’t been very much of that lately, and I’m concerned.”

He licked his lips and played with the edge of one of the files on his desk. “You think I’ve changed?”

Tracey didn’t reply, she only nodded. 

“What if I...start to change back,” Harry said, making a mental note to deal with the next fangirl properly, “will you make my coffee again?”

“Nope.”

He threw his head back with a groan. “But you make it so much better than me.”

She put a hand up to stop him whining. “You focus on getting back to normal, and I’ll delay your first patient,” she said, edging toward the door. “Coffee maker’s in the kitchen.”

Harry let out a heavy exhale as leaned back against his desk. “Fine.”

She gave another nod and turned to exit the office before pausing for a moment in the doorway. “And Harry?” she called out, looking at him over her shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“You owe me big-time for this,” she said with a grin.

“Right,” he said, closing his eyes. Owing Tracey Dravis a favour was never a good position to be in. “Sounds fair.”

“And I know just the way for you to repay me.”

He looked back up at her in surprise. “Oh?” 

Tracey gave him a triumphant smile. “I’ll have Astoria drop by today,” she said. “You help her out and we’re even.”

At this, Harry let out an even louder groan.

Astoria had always been a lovely girl--as if the younger sister of the esteemed magical researcher Daphne Greengrass could be any less. But her choice in husband left a hell of a lot to be desired. 

Draco Malfoy was as ghastly as Daphne Greengrass’s work on Intent was brilliant.

xxx

Astoria pushed open the door to the wizard entrance of the PIMMPLE, practically dragging Draco in by the elbow. 

“Have I mentioned how much I  _ do not _ want to be here right now?” Draco said through gritted teeth. 

“Once or five hundred times,” Astoria said, corralling him through the entrance.

Draco stumbled a bit before righting himself and running a hand through his slicked-back hair. “We don’t need him, Astoria,” he said in a low voice. “We’ll find someone else to see. Anybody else.  _ Please _ .”

Astoria sighed, taking Draco’s hand in hers and starting to feel a bit guilty. “Look, I know you have a...history with Potter,” she said carefully. “But sweetheart...he’s our only hope. If he can help us, won’t it be worth it? Just think about it, Draco.  _ Really _ think about it.”

His entire posture seemed to deflate at her words, and he glanced down at the floor. “Why does it have to be him?” he said, his voice bordering on desperate. “He’s going to make this hell for me.”

She took his hand in hers and squeezed hard. “No, I won’t let him,” she said, jaw set firm. 

Draco looked into her eyes, his face softening in a rare show of vulnerability. “It  _ would _ be worth it, you know,” he mumbled. “If he could help.”

Astoria smiled and pulled him in for a hug, feeling her heart lift with hope for the first time in months.

“Oh, how beautiful. Truly heart-wrenching,” came a voice from the other side of the room. 

They both looked over to see Tracey staring at them with a bored expression on her face. But it melted into a grudging smile as she stood and walked over to the pair. 

“Good to see you, Tori,” she said, giving the woman a hug before turning to Draco. She sneered at him. “Malfoy...always a displeasure.”

“Piss off, Davis,” he said. The refrain was all too familiar to Astoria’s ears.

Tracey beamed before walking them over to her desk. “I’ve told Harry to expect you, just go ahead and fill out the intake forms,” she said, gesturing to the floating clipboard beside them. “Can’t always guarantee promptness here, but we have plenty of entertainment in the waiting area.”

Draco rolled his eyes at this and left to take a seat. 

“Oh, and Malfoy?” Tracey said, calling him back. 

“What?” he said without turning around.

“Here’s some suggested reading material,” Tracey said with a bright smile, levitating a rolled-up newspaper towards him. 

Draco clenched his jaw at once, and Astoria sighed, knowing what was coming. 

Sure enough, when Draco unfurled the paper, an all-too-familiar article jumped out at them on the front page.

_ PrimJax: Faulty Faucets Flush Fortunes _

“Go to hell, Davis,” Draco said, tossing the paper aside and dropping down into one of the chairs with a huff.

Tracey merely shrugged. “Touchy, touchy,” she said under her breath.

Astoria closed her eyes for a moment to gather some patience before walking back towards her husband and sitting down beside him.

This was going to be a long day. 

xxx

Harry sighed as he trudged his way over to the coffee maker in the kitchen. It was an old ruddy muggle one that Hermione had inherited from the last bloke who’d owned the building. And no matter how many times he and Tracey had put up a fight, she’d refused to replace it with the top-of-the-line Breville Brushed Stainless Steel Oracle Touch Espresso Machine that they circled in a catalogue and placed on her desk every December in hopes of a Christmas surprise. 

_ “We need to operate on a lean, zero-waste business model,” she’d say every time. “Don’t forget your three E’s. Economical, efficient, and effective!”  _

Harry shook his head of the thought as he waited for the ancient coffee maker to finish brewing. He looked around the room in boredom, rolling his eyes at the various labels attached to the cabinets and drawers. 

_ Coffee and tea. _

_ Cream and sugar. _

_ Mugs. _

_ Utensils. _

Etc, etc. All around the room, like he and Tracey were five-year-olds who needed to practice their household vocabulary. Merlin forbid something was in the wrong spot. As with everything else in the clinic, Hermione had to have control and order. It was completely overbearing, unnecessary, and demeaning.

Did Harry and Tracey misplace things sometimes? Sure. Did they always put them back afterwards? Never.

But that wasn’t the point. The point was, Harry was having a horrible start to what was sure to be a worse day, and he really just wanted some damn coffee. Tracey’s words from earlier had stung more than he cared to admit, and he couldn’t get them out of his head no matter how hard he tried. 

_ ‘Maybe try and get your pecker back from her iron grip while you’re at it, too. You might very well start enjoying clinic duty, otherwise.’ _

Harry turned around and gripped the countertop hard, feeling indignation rising in him at the thought. He was  _ not  _ changing for the better. He was Harry, just Harry. No one could take that away from him. Not Ginny, and most definitely not Hermione. 

With new resolve, he stared at the wall in front of him before standing straight and proceeding to open all the cabinets and drawers, wreaking havoc on the small kitchen. 

He turned the mugs right side up, ruffled the sugar packets haphazardly around in the drawer, left one coffee filter outside of its bag, switched the order of the spoons, knives, and forks, and threw a lone stirrer in the sink. He was just about to swap around all the labels on the cabinets when a soft knock was heard on the door. 

“Hiya.”

Harry turned around at once and frowned at the man standing in the doorway. He was about 5 feet and 4 ½ inches, had short brown hair and wore glasses. And just by the look of him, Harry could tell he wasn’t from the area. 

“Where are you from?” Harry said. 

“Eh?”

Harry nodded in comprehension. “Canada.”

The man raised an eyebrow before walking inside the kitchen, bringing a toolbox in with him. “Originally from the Philippines. The name’s zap,” he said, holding a hand out for Harry to shake. “I’m here about the faucets.”

“What?”

Zap gestured to the sink. “The PrimJax faucet recall? Didn’t you hear about it?” he said, kneeling down to open his toolbox up. “It’s been in the papers for weeks.”

PrimJax? Why did that ring a bell?

Harry watched as Zap pulled out various magical instruments from his box and proceeded to stick his head under the sink. 

“Why were they recalled?” Harry said, sticking his head down near him. 

Zap turned to look at him. “Do you not read the papers?”

“I’ve been...busy,” Harry said, feeling slightly embarrassed. 

It was the truth, in a way. He only wished it was for something more worthwhile than planning an engagement party. He was all for the engagement itself. It was the  _ party  _ bit he had been dreading. Why they had to make a huge ordeal about it when the wedding was already going to be a monstrous event itself, Harry had no idea.

Zap chuckled. “These faucets are trouble, that’s all I’ll say,” he said. “Old Malfoy has his work cut out for him trying to fix the damages he caused, let me tell you.”

“Malfoy?” Harry said with disgust. “What’s he got to...wait...that’s right! I’d forgotten he’d gone into the plumbing business.”

Zap nodded patiently. “He’s made a  _ huge _ mess of things,” he said. 

Harry couldn’t help the pleased smile that came over his face at that. He picked up his mug of coffee before giving Zap a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Thanks for this wonderful news, mate,” he said, walking towards the door. “You’re all right, Zappy.”

“It’s zap.”

“Hmm?” Harry said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Listen, Zappo. Once you’re done with this faucet, I’d like for you to take a look at the ones in the exam rooms as well. We can’t have them malfunctioning in there. Might prevent important healer work from being done, you see.”

Zappo nodded. “Well, of course. I’ve been assigned to change them all.”

Harry grinned wide. “Excellent.”

xxx

Harry swung the door open, bowing his head and making an exaggerated ‘after you’ motion.

Zappo walked in, looking rather unsure as he made eye contact with the man sitting on the exam table. “Er,” he said, staring between him and Harry, cheeks turning red like a blushing virgin.

_ Well, that won’t do _ , Harry thought with a frown. A bloke with a name like Zappo needed to command much more of a presence. Harry would make sure to sort that out shortly, but it was best to let him get to work first. 

“Zappo, have at her,” he said, gesturing towards the tap.

“It’s zap,” he said through clenched teeth.

Harry raised an eyebrow. Surely it wasn’t. And anyway, he could do much better than  _ Zap.  _ No, Harry would just have to keep trying until he landed on the perfect nickname. For Zappa’s own good, of course.

Putting the thought out of his mind for now, Harry turned toward the patient. “Hello, my name is Doctor Potter. How can I help you today?”

He cringed as soon as the words left his mouth, realizing he’d  _ smiled _ at the patient as he’d said them. Merlin, he could practically hear Tracey mocking him for it.

But no, it was fine. Just because he’d adopted a couple of bad habits, it didn’t mean he couldn’t get back to being his old self again.

The man blinked and looked between Harry and Zappa. “Are...you the doctor?”

“Well, I’d sure hope so,” Harry said. “Unless you’d prefer the bloke replacing the faulty tap. I can refer you to him, if you’d like?”

The man immediately shook his head, his eyes practically bulging. “No, no, I’d rather see a doc than a plumber.”

Harry nodded. “Good choice. So...what’s wrong with you then?” he said abruptly.

The man’s eyes drifted from Harry to the on-going faucet replacement. “Er...is he staying here for this?” he said, nodding his head towards Zappa.

Harry followed his line of sight and frowned. “Of course.”

“Well...what about patient-doctor confidentiality?”

“Nah, don’t worry about Zappa,” Harry said. “He’s cool.”

“zap. It’s just  _ zap _ ,” Zappow called out from under the sink. 

Harry shook his head in disappointment. “Right,” he said, turning back to his patient. “I’ve answered your questions, now you answer mine. Otherwise, I really will get Zappow to treat you instead.”

“Do you even hear me?” a voice called out from under the sink.

“Ignore him,” Harry said, giving his patient a bright smile. “He’s just frustrated about having to fix faulty faucets all day.”

“Well…” the man said, shifting his gaze around once more. “It’s...sort of...embarrassing.”

Harry held himself back from rolling his eyes. Instead, he gave an expectant raise of his eyebrows. “And...?”

The man paused for a moment.

And then:

“I think my arse is infected.”

_ Thud.  _

Harry swivelled on his stool to see Zappow rubbing at the red mark on his forehead, and then swivelled right back.

Huh...that was not what he was expecting.

xxx

Astoria looked around the waiting room that was beginning to fill as the morning stretched on. She’d been warned that there would be a long wait time, but she was worried Draco would start to have doubts again. Tracey’s little jibe earlier about Draco’s pride and joy company certainly hadn’t helped matters. 

“How are you feeling?” she said, taking his hand in hers. 

Draco scowled as he let his head fall back. “I just want this day to be over with.”

She nodded. “Just be patient. Hopefully it won’t be much longer.”

“It will,” came Tracey’s voice, cutting into their conversation.

Astoria sighed as she stared at the woman. As much as she loved Tracey like a sister, there were times she really wished she could zip her mouth shut. “Thanks,” she said in a flat tone. 

Tracey smiled. “How’s the in-house entertainment?” she said, gesturing to the rolled-up newspaper that Draco had crumpled in his hand from gripping too tightly. “Shame about the faucets. I was particularly interested in the complaints about the knobs being faulty. Not emitting a proper flow. Would you happen to know anything about that, Draco?”

“Tracey,” Astoria spit out. 

The woman gave her an innocent look. “I’m only taking an interest in my friend’s career.”

“We have never been, nor will we ever be,  _ friends _ , Davis,” Draco said, taking out his wand and pointing it at the newspaper.

He disintegrated it into hundreds of tiny little pieces and banished it from the air.

Tracey stared at him for a moment before ducking her head down and producing a large stack of  _ Daily Prophets _ which she then placed neatly at the edge of her desk.

xxx

“So...it was only a bacterial infection? I just need to take antibiotics?” Red Arse asked as he awkwardly half-sat on the exam table.

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. “Next time you prick your arse, just make sure it’s not infected,” he said, feeling a warm thrill at the thought of Hermione receiving Red Arse’s patient satisfaction survey. “Cellulitis isn’t overly serious, but it is rather uncomfortable and annoying.”

“It was an accident. I fell at work and got pierced by a piece of metal,” he said. “How was I to know it would cause an infection? Anyway...are you going to give me a prescription then or not?”

Harry shook his head. “No, not until we’re done.”

Red Arse opened his mouth, then closed it, his forehead knitting in confusion. “I thought we were.”

“Not until we’re  _ all  _ done,” Harry clarified, gesturing to Zapple’s bum that was still sticking out from under the sink.

“What?” Red Arse said, looking annoyed now. “Didn’t you say he wasn’t the doctor?”

“Does he  _ look _ like the doctor?”

“No!”

“Then why would you ask such a stupid question?” Harry said.

Red Arse threw his hands up in the air. “Because I want my prescription so I could go home and stop sitting on my red and infected arse!” he said, half-sitting, half-standing with his right buttock off the exam table. 

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Here at the PIMMPLE, we believe in holistic medicine,” he said. “I’ve treated your physical ailments. Now as we wait for Zapple to finish, we--”

“It’s  _ zap! _ ”

Harry huffed out a breath. Would any nickname meet his standards?

“Anyway,” Harry continued, “waiting for Zapper to finish is all part of the treatment protocol, trust me. I’m a doctor. And besides...how could you think of asking me to abandon him? Look at him!”

Zap stuck his head up and scowled. “It’s zap, and please feel free to leave,” he said in a flat voice. “I’d prefer it if you left. If you  _ both _ left.”

Harry ignored his partner’s words and turned back to Red Arse. “We’re an inseparable duo. Zappity and Doctor Potter. He works on the building’s plumbing issues, while I work on  _ your  _ plumbing issues."

“Just zap,” Zappily called out from behind. “And I feel defiled by all these preposterous names. And worried.”

Harry brushed off his words with a wave of his hand. “Nothing to be worried about, I assure you.”

“You saying that only makes me more worried.”

“What’s there to be worried about?”

Zappily let out a long sigh. “That’s just it,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I don’t know.”

Xxx

Astoria looked around the waiting room, her eyes landing on a small balding man who sat with his young ginger-haired son who had abnormally large head, both holding their hands to their noses. Based on where they were seated, she could tell they were wizards. An invisible barrier was set in place in the PIMMPLE waiting area that separated muggle and magical patients, the latter able to see the former, but not vice versa. Some sort of clever charm cast by Hermione Granger-Weasley, no doubt. 

She nudged Draco in the arm and nodded her head towards the boy. “Cute, isn’t he?” she said.

Draco looked to where she was pointing and curled his lip in distaste. “Ginger hair?”

“It’s more auburn,” Astoria said in defence. 

He shook his head. “Our son would be much cuter,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument.

Astoria grinned in response, very much in agreement.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Tracey spoke up from her desk. “There’s still the matter of the leaky faucet, isn’t there?”

_ “Tracey!” _ Astoria said, eyes wide in disbelief. “I swear to Merlin, if you keep--”

“Mr. Jack Libby?” Tracey called out, interrupting her. 

The father and son pair stood up at the announcement and made their way to the desk where Tracey led them down towards the exam rooms. 

“Not much longer yet, I’m sure of it,” Astoria said, giving Draco an apologetic smile.

xxx

“Well, that’s the kitchen and Exam Room One fixed up,” Harry said, patting the man next to him on the back. “Just three more to go, Zappling.”

“How joyous,” Zappling said, looking anything but.

“Let’s see who’s in the next room, shall we?” Harry said, feeling giddy. “Any guesses? STI? Cellulitis again? Foreign object stuck somewhere it shouldn’t be?”

Zappling sighed. “We’re still not done with the names, eh?” he said with a weary look. “Do you even see patients? I’ve been here since morning, fixed two god-awful PrimJax faucets, and all you’ve done is make a guy even more uncomfortable than he was when he came in. And he had an infected butt!”

Harry grinned in response. “I know,” he said, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Isn’t it glorious, Zaperoo?”

Zaperoo knocked Harry’s hand off his shoulder and clenched his jaw. “zap. For the last time, it’s  _ zap _ . Lowercase z, thank you very much.”

Harry quirked his head. A lowercase letter. How fascinating. 

“Alright, but seriously, what do you got?” he said, getting back to business. “I’m going with foreign object.”

“Can I please just go in and fix the faucet?” Zapariah asked, looking tired.

“No,” Harry said.

Zapariah dropped his head and then sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll go with STI.”

Harry nodded in approval as he turned the handle and swung the door wide open. He let Zapariah enter first once again, and Harry watched in pride as he ignored the patient and went straight to work.

What a pro. He’d come a long way already.

Harry strolled in behind him and plopped down on his stool, turning to face the short balding man on the exam table. “Right, what’s wrong with you then?”

As he looked up from the file in his hands, Harry was surprised to see a young auburn-haired boy pop up from behind the man’s shoulder. He had a snotty nose, his entire left nostril red and irritated.

Harry sighed.

“Is he fixing the sink?” the man asked.

“No, the faucet. It was a PrimJax one,” Harry said as he flipped through the file to find the intake form.

“Oh, ours was already changed this morning, what a disaster they are.”

Harry let out a throaty chuckle at that. If there was ever a day to see the blonde-haired ferret, today would be the prime one. Unfortunately it didn’t make the prospect of doing so any better.

But he was feeling giddy today. Getting back to his roots as the cantankerous Healer Harry, every supervisor’s nightmare. Not to mention the progress he was making with Zaperiah and the utter humiliation Draco was facing with the PrimJax business. Yes, he definitely felt a large uptick in his mood today. And to think...it had started so horribly. It was almost as if a weight had been lifted, one he hadn’t realized had been slowly building, settling on his shoulders.

With that in mind, and being eager to see who won the bet, Harry made a stab at what was wrong. “Let me guess, foreign object up your child’s nose?”

The man didn’t need to reply. The defeated look in his eyes said it all.

“Hear that Zapariah?  _ Foreign Object _ ,” Harry said, pumping his fist in triumph. “Healer Potter, one. Zapariah, big fat zero.”

“I didn’t even  _ want _ to play. I just guessed so I could get on with my job,” Zapariah said, shaking his head in annoyance. “And how many times do I have to tell you, it’s just zap. Not Zaperoo, Zappling, Zappity, Zappa or any other perverse, preposterous permutations of my name!” 

In the face of such fury, Harry had only one response to defuse the situation--Lockhart’s five-time winning Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile.

“Don’t be so bitter about losing. We’ve still got another exam room to go,” Harry said with an encouraging look. “You can tie this up, ol’ boy. Just give it your best and hope for a little help from Lady Luck.”

Zappini threw up his hands and turned around, obviously not wanting to acknowledge his losing score.

“Can you help my son?” the patient asked, returning Harry’s attention to him.

“Depends, what’s stuck up there? Action figure? Food?”

“A toy fly.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “Pardon?” 

“Daddy has one up his nose, t--” the young boy said, his father covering his mouth before he could finish.

“Something you want to share with the class?” Harry asked with a grin.

As embarrassment washed over the man’s face, Zappini stopped tinkering with the faucet and turned around.

“Daddy bet me I couldn’t put a fly up my nose,” the boy piped up, dimples showing on his face as he smiled. “So I did it, but he didn’t believe me when I told him!” 

The boy folded his arms and pouted, clearly still troubled by this.

“I looked up his nose and couldn’t see it,” Fly Man said with a shrug.

“Well, strewth! It flew up my nose. Of course you couldn’t see it!” Fly Boy explained, much to Zappini’s amusement. The plumber was failing to hide his ever-growing smile behind his hand.

“So let me get this straight,” Harry said, turning to Fly Man. “You put a toy fly up your own nose after that to see if it was possible. Because you didn’t believe your son?” 

Harry seemed to hit the nail on the head if the man’s sudden fascination with his shoes was anything to go by.

“There’s a charm on them, like Chocolate Frogs,” Fly Man explained. “They don’t animate once they’re in your mouth. For safety reasons, you know.”

Harry hummed in response.

“But I guess it doesn’t apply to the nasal cavity,” Fly Man said in embarrassment. “So, now we’ve both got moving toy flies stuck somewhere up our noses.”

Fly Boy nodded in enthusiasm. “And if I don’t tell mummy, then I get two candy bars!”

Fly Man sighed. “Fair dinkum.”

“That’s cash money, dawg,” Fly Boy said with a grin.

Harry looked over to Zappini, whose chest was shaking as he failed to suppress his laughter. “2-0, Zappini!” 

xxx

“Have you even told Potter that we’re here?” Draco said, very much fed up at this point. 

He was standing up, arms crossed, staring daggers at Tracey who had the Daily Prophet open to the centre story. Astoria didn’t have to look to know there was a picture of Draco in there, speaking to the press in his bright blue PrimJax robes. 

“I may have mentioned it,” Tracey said, flattening the newspaper out with her hand. “He’s very busy, you see. We’ve had a plumber in the clinic all morning fixing faucets, stepping on Harry’s toes as he tries to see patients. Poor bloke can’t get any proper work done.”

“Oh, don’t you bloody start on that again,” Draco said, pointing a finger at her. “I’ve had enough of this, you hear?”

Tracey took her hands off a stack of files and held them up in a calming gesture. “Really, Draco?” she said in a tone that would be infuriatingly calm to him. “If you’d had enough, you would have walked right outside that door. But instead, we get to discuss your faults until Harry has a chance to fix your plumbing issues.”

“Davis, I’m going to--”

Tracey held up a file and shoved it into Draco’s face, causing Astoria to roll her eyes and stand up from where she’d been witnessing the scene play out.

“Mr and Mrs Astoria Greengrass?” Tracey called loudly as though they were at the other end of the waiting room.

Astoria said a silent prayer of gratitude that they could finally get this day over with. She took Draco by the hand and pulled him towards the clinic rooms at once.

xxx

“Any guesses as to what’s behind the final door? It’s your last chance, make it a respectable one, Zapperelli,” Harry said as they approached exam room four.

“The score is nearly tied,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You don’t get two points for two toy flies. That was  _ one _ patient room.”

“But it was fine to award two points for the last room?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. “Skin infection caused by a foreign object? Two points for one patient but not two points for two patients. You’re being a bit biased, don’t you think?”

Zapperelli let out an exasperated breath. “Whatever. You can have all the points you want if you just call me zap. Lowercase z. a. p. You know--my  _ name _ .”

Harry shook his head. “No can do, Zaphano. I’ll find one that sticks, eventually,” he said, smiling brightly.

“zap,” he groaned, raising his hand to his forehead and massaging it his temples.

Harry gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “So, what’ll it be, Zappitha? What’s your pick?”

Zappitha bit his lower lip, the corners of his eyes scrunching up. “STIs,” he said eventually. “We’ve had foreign objects, skin issues, and skin issues with foreign object. Gotta go with whatever’s left.”

“Good choice,” Harry said with a wink. “But I’m going to toss things up this time. I’ll go with sexual performance issues.”

The young man raised an eyebrow but shrugged, waiting for Harry to open the door.

Harry, of course, could already guess who Tracey had set up in the fourth exam room. It was late enough in the day that his coffee had already settled into his system, but not too late that he could use lunch as an excuse to bugger off. In other words, prime Malfoy appointment time. Tracey definitely wasn’t paid enough.

  
  
  


He didn’t have to guess what Malfoy was here for. Rumours spread quickly in the Wizarding World, especially when they had to do with someone as detested as Draco Malfoy. How he had charmed and kept his much-too-good-for-him wife, Harry would never know.

Shaking his head of the thought, Harry plucked the file off the wall and noticed a sticky note on the front of it with Tracey’s handwriting.

_ Be nice to Astoria. Give Draco what he deserves, I’ve already done my job. _

Harry smiled. If he was being coerced into this, the least he could do was enjoy himself. 

He swung the door open and gestured for his companion to go first. “After you, Zaplardy.”

The young man closed his eyes and sighed. “This is the last room. Can you please just go with zap, just this once?”

Harry merely raised his eyebrow until Zaplinski shook his head and walked inside. 

Upon entering, they were greeted by a voice that Harry hadn’t heard since Hogwarts.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, malice dripping from his tone.

Harry gave him a wide grin. “Ah, Draco! How good of you to come supervise Zaplinski here while he replaces all of your faulty faucets… Well, maybe not  _ all _ of them.”

“Harry,” Astoria said, making her presence known as she stepped forward.

“Astoria, darling! So wonderful to see you,” Harry said, turning and beaming at her. “You look ravishing, as usual. Why you lug that filth around with you, I’ll never know.”

Malfoy clenched his jaw. “Potter, if you could stop hitting on my wife, kick out this plumber, and do your job, then we could get away from each other as quickly as possible. I think we’d both agree that’d be best.”

This was wonderful. Draco wasn't even feigning faux politeness. Tracey really had done quite a number on him already.

“Ah, well, Zaplinski here is doing a very important job. Faucet recalls, they just  _ can’t _ be delayed. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Draco?” Harry said, not even trying to hide his smugness.

“Ah...delayed,” Draco said, fire alighting behind his eyes, “A word you must be intimately familiar with by now. Tell me, how many times has your pending engagement party been  _ delayed?  _ At this point, why even have one?”

Harry fumbled with the quill in his hands before setting it down. “Love can’t be rushed unlike the recall of your faulty faucets,” Harry said, deftly riposting the previous comment. “What was that Prophet article entitled?  _ PrimJax Profits Circling the Drain _ ?”

Draco cleared his throat. “Ah, that old rag. The same one that printed the lovely piece entitled  _ Potter-Weasley: Estranged Engagement Ending? _ Yes, I believe that’s wh-”

“Alright boys,” Astoria said, interjecting before things could escalate further. “Verbal duelling is at an end, it’s time to discuss what we came here for, kapeesh?”

Harry nodded but knew he’d have more than enough opportunities to needle Malfoy later. He looked to Draco and saw that he’d been effectively cowed by his wife. And bringing a fist to his mouth, he coughed out a small, “ _ Whipped, _ ” before clearing his throat. 

A snort of amusement came from where Zaplinski was busy working under the sink.

Astoria shot her husband a look of warning, cutting off any retort he might’ve made. She then patted the spot beside her on the exam table and he dutifully sat down.

“Right, what’s wrong with you then?” Harry said, falling into his familiar role.

Draco shot a significant look at Zaplinski. “He’s not staying for this,” he said in indignation. “Kick him out.”

Harry blinked twice. What a perfect opportunity to use his version of Lockhart’s five-time winning Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile. He took a second to prepare himself and then did his best imitation of it for the second time today.

Why had he stopped doing this?

“Harry, you may torture my dearest to your heart’s content when I’m not in the vicinity,” Astoria said, hopping off the exam table and stepping towards him. “But I’d prefer to not hear repeats of your infamous Hogwarts byplay.”

Harry frowned. Why did Draco have to marry such a sensible woman? Even belittling him, he could not find fault with her. He sighed and pulled up the clipboard, “Fine, what’s wrong with you then?”

Astoria rolled her eyes. “As if you don’t already know, Harry. You work with Tracey and Tracey talks to Daphne.”

“Yes, well, it’s not like I’d be your husband’s first choice of healer,” Harry said, letting his eyes drift to Draco who was staring determinedly up at the ceiling. “You must have tried seeing another healer who was at least somewhat competent.”

“We did,” Astoria said, giving an insistent nod. “But...none of them have been able to help us conceive a child.”

Harry rubbed his chin. “What have they tried?” he asked, bringing a pen up to transcribe his notes. It was mostly for Tracey’s amusement, of course. She’d love more dirt on Malfoy.

“Potter,” Draco growled. “My wife isn’t going to discuss this in front of an audience.”

Harry looked around the room, his eyes resting on each of the other three occupants in turn. Yes, he could easily remedy the situation. “My apologies,” he said as politely as he could manage. “Let me just take care of that.”

Harry stood up and made his way to the door in three quick strides. He opened it and swung his head and arm out, locating an all-too-familiar button and pressing it. Tracey had been right, he hadn’t gotten rid of any fangirls properly in a long time.

He ducked back into the room and shut the door, a bright smile on his face.

A loud  _ whoosh  _ sounded in the room.

Zaplinski had stopped working, his jaw lowered as if he wasn’t able to comprehend what had just happened. Astoria, who had not been sitting on the exam table portkey, was pinching the bridge of her nose. Harry could hear her counting under her breath as though trying to maintain her composure.

“Now that the unwanted party has been removed, did you want to get on with this?” Harry said, returning to his stool, trying and failing to keep the pleased smile off his face.

“Harry,” Astoria said through clenched teeth. “I’ve spent  _ weeks _ trying to get my husband here. I had to get dirt on Tracey to even have a chance to make  _ you _ see us.” 

She brought her stormy blues eyes up to meet his. Behind the frustration, Harry could see weary disappointment, and it made him feel a smidgen bad for what he’d done. Not enough that it could be considered anything close to regret, of course. But enough to make him feel  _ something _ other than pure unadulterated glee at the thought of Draco having to go through a battery of tests at St. Mungos after arriving from an emergency portkey from a licensed Healer.

“Yes, well, I’m not sure it’s in anyone’s best interest to allow for more mini-Malfoy spawns to inhabit the world,” Harry said, closing his file and wondering where he should head to for lunch.

“And, besides,” he continued, standing up. “I agreed to see you, not treat you. Go find a Healer that doesn’t detest Draco. There are some good ones on the continent. I'll even refer you-- _ singular _ you. I'll not be referring Draco anywhere."

Astoria let out a heavy exhale as she made her way to the door. “That’s the thing, Harry,” she said, looking up at him with a frown. “We’ve already seen the best of them. And none of them have been able to help.” She looked away and opened the door to leave. But just as she was about to turn, she stopped and added one more comment.

“If we weren’t so desperate, do you really think I would have gotten Draco to come see  _ you _ for help?” 

She shook her head with a frown and then walked out the door, leaving Harry to stare after her.

Astoria was a gem and entirely too good for her husband. Only someone like her could make him feel bad about withholding services from a person he’d be glad to never see again.

He sighed and looked to Zaplinski. He was just finishing up and the least Harry could do was buy him lunch. He’d put the young man through enough today.

“C’mon, Zaplinski, hurry on up and I’ll treat you to lunch at the local diner. It’s only fair now that I’ve unnecessarily subjected you to Malfoy.”

“It’s zap,” the young man said. “Is it really too much to ask that you call me zap?”

Harry didn’t respond as he gathered his things and prepared to leave.

He waited for Zapasaurus to finish up and then sent him to his office while he went to notify Tracey he was off for lunch. He hoped she’d noticed the number he'd done on Hermione’s kitchen organization. It would surely put a smile on her face.

Harry was making his way towards the front when Tracey came bursting into the hall. From the look in her eye, he could tell she was livid.

She walked right up to him and thrust a finger into the sensitive spot where his shoulder and chest met.

“Merlin, Tracey, what’s the matter w--” Harry began before her irate voice cut him off.

“I asked you for a favour,  _ Potter _ ,” she spat at him. 

Use of his last name...this wasn’t good.

“And while I would’ve congratulated you for portkeying Draco, making Astoria leave in tears is--is…  _ Argh! _ ” She threw her hands up and glared at him.

Harry carefully removed her finger before addressing her. “She wasn’t happy when she left, but she certainly wasn’t in tears,” he said, trying to recall what might’ve set her off.

Tracey almost shook on the spot. She was so agitated, her jaw clenched tight and her eyes drilling a hole through him with her angry stare. “The poor woman was desperate enough to force her husband to ask the last-- _ the very last _ \--person on earth for help to conceive a child. Then you go and tell her the world is better off without mini-Malfoy spawns? Are you mad? What the hell has gotten into you lately?”

Harry cleared his throat and shifted his eyes away. “Oh.”

“Yes,  _ ‘oh’ _ ,” Tracey said. “When I told you to get your balls back, I didn’t mean for you to be an irredeemable arse. If you didn’t want to treat them, you could have just told me. I’d have let her down lightly. There was no need to stomp all over her dream and then spit on it.”

“I...I didn’t mean it like that,” Harry tried, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“Just get out of here, Harry,” Tracey said. “Go get lunch and don’t come back. I can’t deal with you anymore today.”

Harry just nodded. This wasn’t a battle worth fighting and Zap was already waiting for him.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Harry stepped out of the fireplace and looked around at the empty sitting room of the Burrow. He’d managed to make it Sunday tea consistently since he’d started dating Ginny again, but he was always the last to arrive. 

Well...not always. 

Harry stared at the table of Weasleys as he stepped out into the garden and sighed at the missing sight of his fiance. “Ginny not here yet?” he said, taking a seat next to Bill and Fleur. 

Fleur shook her head with a sympathetic look that made Harry frown in thought. 

“She’s at Quidditch practice,” Bill said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t you know that?”

Mrs Weasley spoke up from down the table before Harry could answer, giving him a warm smile. “How’s work been, dear?” 

“Er...fine,” Harry said, glad for the change of subject. “Well...could be better. Had to see Malfoy the other day.”

George snorted at this. “Oh, I’d pay to be able to see his face right about now,” he said. “The PrimJax story has been in the papers for weeks.”

Several people nodded, conversation erupting around the table. 

“Is it true they’re on hiatus now?” Ron asked through a mouthful of food. “That they’ve halted all new product development?”

Bill shook his head. “They’re starting from scratch as we speak. Reworking their entire stock.”

Ron wheezed out a laugh. “What an embarrassment, honestly,” he said, picking up another chicken leg. “They could do with a break, you know. Might help them find some proper Hope and Healing.”

Everyone broke out into murmurs of agreement.

“All right now,” Arthur said, holding a hand up. “Let’s settle down. What happened to Mr Malfoy was a right shame, and I wouldn’t wish it upon any of you. It’s A Different Kind of War dealing with a failed business  _ and _ press coverage.”

“Dad, come on,” Ron said. “It’s bloody hilarious. He started that stupid PrimJax company with all these high hopes and dreams only for it all to blow up in his face.”

Bill threw a firm look at his brother. “I’m with Dad on this one,” he said. “Other people’s failures are  _ not _ something to laugh about.”

Fleur gave him a loving look and patted his arm. 

“What was he there for anyway, Harry?” George said through a mouthful of potatoes. “Are the rumours true?  _ His  _ faucet not functioning properly, as well?”

“ _ George!”  _ Molly said through a hiss. “I did  _ not _ raise you to mock the misfortune of others.”

George raised his eyebrows in innocence. “Mum, what do you take me for?” he said, holding a hand to his heart. “I would never mock Astoria Greengrass’s misfortune for marrying a sod.”

Ron let out a bark of laughter over his goblet, causing Molly to frown in his direction. 

“Are you going to treat them, Harry?” Fleur said beside him, her voice soft and entreating.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at her. “Oh, God, no,” he said, cutting his chicken up with a fork and knife. “Why on earth would I do something like that?”

Bill clenched his jaw hard next to his wife. 

“Harry,” Fleur said in a softly admonishing tone. “I know you don’t mean that.”

Harry took a bite of his chicken and nodded. “I do,” he said. “Clinic duty is bad enough without seeing Malfoy’s ugly mug every day, thank you very much.”

“Wow...Harry Potter not fulfilling his moral obligations as a healer, who could’ve fathomed,” Bill said in a dry voice. 

“Nah, I’m with Harry on this,” George said. “The world doesn’t need more Malfoys running around.”

Harry gave a nod of agreement. 

Bill set his fork down with a loud clang. “You’re an absolute dickhead, Potter, you know that?” he said.

Fleur put a hand on Bill’s arm to calm him down before turning to look at Harry. “What Bill means to say, Harry,” she said, frowning at her husband. “Is that you should really consider their feelings as prospective parents. Don’t you remember how hard it was for Bill and I to conceive Dominique?”

Harry cleared his throat and avoided Fleur’s eyes. “Quite?”

“Very,” Fleur said with a sad smile. “Who are you to deny them a chance at a child, Harry? Draco Malfoy came to  _ you _ of all people. Surely you’re their last hope.”

Feeling somewhat guilty, Harry set his fork and knife down.

“You know something? I used to think you were a little shit at times,” Bill added, leaning in past his wife and pointing a finger at him. “But you’ve been bloody unbearable lately. I think it’s time you have a look in the mirror and ask yourself who the hell you’ve turned into.”

Silence fell around the table as Bill’s words rang in the air.

Harry felt his half-eaten dinner turn in his stomach, so he pushed his plate away. “I admit, I may have been a tad harsh with Malfoy and Astoria,” he said, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “But I’ve been...as they say…. _ stressed... _ recently.”

He could feel every pair of eyes on him, and he suddenly wished that he could be alone.

“What do you mean, Harry?” Fleur said, laying a hand on his arm. 

He opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of footsteps approaching interrupted him. 

“Sorry I’m late!” Ginny said, placing a quick kiss on Harry’s cheek and taking the seat beside him. “What were we talking about?”

“Just work,” Harry said, returning to his dinner. 

Ginny nodded, not asking him to elaborate. And Harry sat there as she broke out into the usual discussion of engagement party planning that he privately loathed, even though he would never admit it aloud. 

All the while, he let his mind wander to Astoria Greengrass and her unfortunate lump of a husband. Conception was never too difficult a case to solve in the Wizarding World. And Harry had to admit, he was slightly intrigued that no healer could figure out what the issue was. 

Though he hated to admit it, Tracey and Fleur were right. He’d been out of line with Astoria. He couldn’t care less about Malfoy, but she deserved better than that. Harry needed to be better than that. 

Perhaps this case was the way to get back to his old self again. The rush of solving a medical mystery always had a positive effect on him. And he needed to get to the bottom of whatever the hell was wrong with him.

“I’ll do it,” Harry announced, cutting Ginny off mid-sentence. 

Her forehead wrinkled in surprise. “You will?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “And not because of Bill’s little tantrum.”

“Piss off,” Bill said. 

“No, thank you,” Harry said with a polite smile. “No...I need to get my mojo back. Solve another case.”

At this, Ginny pursed her lips in a thin line and crossed her arms. “You’ve got to be kidding me right now.”

“Not in the slightest,” Harry said. 

“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you?”

“Afraid not, no.”

Ginny threw her hands up in the air and huffed. “Just be at the appointment tomorrow,” she said, getting up from the table and sliding her chair back in rather roughly. “I swear to Merlin, Harry, if you’re not there…”

She stalked off before finishing her threat, leaving Harry to return to his dinner.

Chatter broke out once more around the table, and Fleur leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Appointment with the florist,” she said.

Harry smiled in gratitude and gave her a wink. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Harry stared at the woman sitting across from at the desk. She wore thick tortoise-shell glasses that obscured the better half of her already scrunched-up face, her beady little eyes appearing smaller behind the large frames. 

“Will she be much longer, do you think?” Beady Eyes asked.

Harry glanced down at his watch and furrowed his eyebrows. “She must be late getting back from practice,” he said. 

Beady Eyes flattened her mouth in a frown. “I have appointments all day, just so you’re aware,” she said. “I have to remain on a strict schedule.”

“Booming business, the doily industry?” Harry said.

She chose not to respond, levitating a giant binder onto the table and letting it fall with a loud  _ thump. _

“We have numerous prints to choose from in various shades of--”

Harry tuned her out, he didn’t need to become an expert on doilies. He frowned as he watched her point out different ones, each one looking nearly identical to the previous. 

“That one,” Harry said, picking one of the white ones at random as he spun the binder back towards her He tapped the top of the page before standing up, giving a nod of farewell, and walking out the door. 

xxx

“You’ve got a choice: lion suit or a cat-girl costume,” Harry said, doing his best to look professional.

“We’re not wearing your stupid muggle costumes, Potter,” Draco drawled out. “We’ve already had all the best healers run every magical scan there is. Request those results from them.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “And what if there’s a new magical symptom you’re experiencing that wasn’t present at the time? What if they made a mistake?” 

“None of the other places required suits of any kind,” Astoria said, though her eyes drifted towards the cat-woman suit interest.

Harry gave her a placating smile. Astoria wasn’t perfect, her choice in husband more than exemplified that. “I specialize in diagnosing rare magical and medical diseases that leave other healers at a loss. You know that, it’s why you came to me,” he said, looking back and forth between them. “Now, do you honestly believe I don’t also have specialized equipment to help me do so?”

Astoria crossed her arms and gave him a hard look. “When you have a sister who’s  _ revolutionized _ our understanding of magic with her work on the Importance of Intent, then yes. Yes, I do,” she said. “Don’t fool yourself, Mr Potter, I’m not nearly as naive as you believe me to be.”

They stared each other down for a moment before Harry shrugged and placed his pen down on the clipboard. “Fine, if that’s your choice,” he said. “I’ll need you to strip.”

Instead of blowing up as Harry might have expected, Draco only gave him a flat look. “My wife isn’t stripping for you, Potter.”

Harry shifted his gaze to Malfoy. “Why would  _ she _ be the one to strip? You’re obviously the problem,” he said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Just make sure to keep your knickers on, I don’t need you to Free Willy.”

“Potter, my husband and I aren’t stripping,” Astoria said in a voice that left little room for argument. “Just run the tests, and we’ll be on our way.”

Harry placed the file on his desk and sighed. “Look, I know you both think I’m messing with you,” he said. “But if I’m going to run these scans, I can’t have any interference.”

“And how would these... _ costumes _ be any different than the clothes we have on?” she said, her fingers running over the smooth cat-suit.

“You’re both wearing charmed clothing, correct? Acromantula Silk or some other magically sourced material?” he asked, raising a knowing eyebrow. 

Malfoy’s lips thinned, causing Harry to smirk in triumph. He tossed the lion suit at him before addressing them both again.

“Go on and ask Daphne if you’re still unsure. She’ll confirm that even the most  _ minute _ interference from magical clothing can throw off a scan,” he said before nodding his head at the suits in their hands. “Those costumes are made of magically insulated material. That’s why I use them.”

Astoria crossed her arms, giving Harry a calculating look. “I will ask her,” she said finally.

Harry smiled. “Good.”

“For the love of Merlin, Potter, did it  _ have _ to be a lion?” Draco spoke up suddenly, voice coming out in a growl.

Harry grinned at the irony. “Tracey picked it out for you, specifically,” he said, standing up and heading towards the door. “I’ll leave you to change for now. I’d rather not witness Malfoy’s pastiness first hand.” 

Malfoy’s answering string of swears was muffled by Harry shutting the door with a loud  _ click.  _

xxx

“As you can see, we have many different options for centrepieces,” Glaring Gap-tooth said, projecting various images over a large basin in front of them. “You can go with a nice bouquet--real or fake. You can have candles, different types of vases, lanterns--”

“That, that, and that,” Harry said, pointing at various projected objects.

Glaring Gap-tooth opened his mouth then closed it. Then opened it once more. “Mr Potter...are you sure--”

“Very,” Harry said, standing up and smoothing down his robes. “Just send me the bill by owl, will you?”

The man simply stared for a moment before accepting his proffered hand and shaking it.

“Wonderful doing business with you,” Harry said, tipping an invisible hat before turning around and leaving.

x-x-x

“So, did Daphne confirm what I said last time?” Harry said, spinning on his stool to face the Malfoys. 

Astoria rolled her eyes. “To my great disappointment, yes. She did,” she said, already in the process of taking off her outer robes. 

Harry beamed. “How wonderful,” he said, looking between them. “Now, I didn’t want anything to affect the test results, so I had some new costumes made, just for you two.”

He reached behind him and produced a Wonder Woman costume that he tossed at Astoria and a pig costume that he tossed at Malfoy.

“You couldn’t find something else, Potter?” Malfoy said through clenched teeth. 

It said a lot about Malfoy’s emotional control that he hadn’t pulled his wand out at Harry yet. Of course, Astoria’s hand squeezing his forearm might have also had something to do with that.

“It was by request,” Harry said with a shrug. “I couldn’t deny this person.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. “Tracey,” he said, practically spitting out the name.

Harry shook his head with a smile. “Someone else.”

_ “Daphne _ ,” Draco hissed out.

Astoria let out a loud sigh. “Look, if amusing yourself with these stupid costumes makes you better at your job, then I’ll wear whatever the hell you want me to,” she said, giving him a firm look. “But can we  _ please  _ just get on with this?”

Malfoy stared at his wife before turning to look at Harry as well. “Tori’s right. I’m willing to strut around naked for you all day if it lets us finally conceive, Potter,” Draco said, his cheeks burning crimson after a few seconds as though just registering what he’d said. “I mean…”

A small giggle left Astoria’s mouth which she immediately tried to muffle with her hand.

“Please, just...put on the costume,” Harry said, shuddering at the mental image as he got up to leave the room.

  
x-x-x

Harry pulled the door open to  _ Quality Quidditch Supplies _ and stepped inside, glancing around for a moment before walking over to the lone employee sitting at the back of the shop. 

“I’m here to create an engagement registry,” Harry said, folding his hands behind his back.

The young teen glanced around as though unsure who Harry was speaking to. But upon seeing no one else in the shop, he cleared his throat and stood up. He had the appearance of someone who’d been stretched past their limit, long spindly arms and legs, a disproportionately short torso. 

“A registry, you said?” Spindly Limbs asked, taking out a sheet of parchment and quill, his cheeks burning red. “Erm...okay, what shall I write down?”

Harry took a moment to look around, perusing the various shelves, walking past the broomsticks set up in the front window, and then circling back towards Spindly Limbs. 

“Everything,” he said. 

Spindly Limbs’s eyes widened. “Right...yes, perfect,” he said, carefully writing the word ‘everything’ down on his sheet of parchment before looking back up. “Great! You’re all set, Mr Potter.”

Harry smiled and held out a hand for the boy to shake. “Excellent.”

x-x-x

“Well, I have some good news, some bad news, and some worse news,” Harry said, staring at Draco and Astoria who were sitting on the exam table in front of him. “What would you like to hear first?”

The pair exchanged a worried look. “We’ll start with the good news,” Draco said, grabbing his wife’s hand and rubbing his thumb against the back of it.

Harry gave a dutiful nod. “Right, well...the good news is there’s nothing wrong with you magically or physically,” he said, aware that his tone conveyed little optimism.

“And...the bad news is you have no more leads?” Astoria said, gripping the table hard as though bracing herself.

Harry’s eyebrows knit together. “What? Good heavens, no,” he scoffed.

Her eyes widened at that.

“No, no, see most healers don’t bother with muggle medicine,” Harry said, rummaging through the desk drawers for his clipboard. "But I'm not most healers."

Draco sneered at that. “What are you planning on doing to us, Potter?”

Astoria glared at her husband. “If it’ll help us conceive, we’ll try it,” she said, her hand coming to rest on Draco’s thigh.

Harry nodded as he walked over to the file cabinet, thumbing through various folders until he found the form he was looking for. He slipped his wand into his hand and discreetly modified it to add a few more questions.

“This is a form used to ask some important family history questions,” Harry said, attaching it to his clipboard. “Muggles place a lot of emphasis on genetics which, if you may not know, is the study of--”

“We know what genetics are, Potter,” Draco said in annoyance.

Harry gave him a pleasant smile. “Splendid,” he said. “Then I’ll just go ahead and ask you some of these questions, Draco.”

Astoria raised an eyebrow. “Don’t I need one, as well?”

“No,” Harry said. “I’ve already looked into your family history with Daphne’s help. From what we can tell, the Greengrass line hasn’t had any notable issues with conception in the past.”

“Ah,” Astoria said with a grateful smile. “Well, thank you for being so thorough.”

Harry dipped his chin and then flicked his eyes down to the form. “Right, back to business,” he said, skimming over the two pages. “Looks like we’ll start with your history, then move onto your family's.”

Draco pursed his lips but didn't argue.

“First question,” Harry said, bringing his fist up to his mouth and clearing his throat. “Have you ever had any trouble achieving and/or maintaining an erection?” 

Draco’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?” he said, voice going higher in pitch. “No,  _ Potter,  _ I don’t have any sexual performance issues, thank you very much!"

Harry glanced over at Astoria whose lips were pressed tight into a thin line.

“Alright...moving on, then,” Harry said, looking back down at the form. “Has your  _ father _ ever had any trouble achieving and/or maintaining an erection?”

Draco threw his hands up in the air. “How the hell would I know?” he said. “Does it look like I ask my father about his sexual activities?"

Harry merely shrugged. He was about to move onto the next question when the sound of Astoria clearing her throat stopped him.

“Erm...actually, Draco...your mother and I do speak on such things,” she said in a small voice. “And...Lucius doesn’t have any issues getting it up, not from what I’ve been told.”

“Oh, for the love of--! Great...brilliant,” Draco said, his entire neck flushing red. “Just what I needed to know...”

Astoria turned to look at Harry who was leaning forward with interest. “And if it helps...” she continued somewhat hesitantly. “Narcissa has shared that Lucius is normally ‘rock-hard’ before he’s fully undressed. While Draco, on the other hand, requires some...coaxing to get to the same state.”

Harry blinked once. Twice. Three times. 

If Draco was flushed before, he was positively burning now. Yet he remained silent, letting his wife’s words hang in the air.

“Yes...yes, that helps,” Harry said, scribbling down  _ ‘requires coaxing’  _ beneath the previous question before moving onto the next one. “If there were methods to help you achieve erections, would you be interested?”

“Oh, yes, _ ” _ Draco blurted out before clearing his throat and glancing down to the floor.

Harry kept his head bowed as he marked that down, trying to maintain professionalism by keeping the grin off his face. “Right, well, we’ll just...continue on then.”

But the clipboard was snatched from his hands before he could read the next question.

“ _ ‘When was the last time you had an erection? How often do you have sex?’  _ You plan to ask  _ all _ fifty of these filthy questions, Potter?” Draco asked, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the clipboard. “I’m not answering these for your entertainment!”

Harry held a hand up. “Believe me, discussing your sex life is not my idea of a good time,” he said. “I’m only trying to confirm something.”

“And what’s that, exactly?” Draco said through clenched teeth. “I don’t appreciate you prying into our personal business.”

Harry gave a shrug before getting up to check the magical sensors. “Mhm, just as I hypothesized,” he said, perusing the logs.

“What is it?” Astoria said at once.

He turned to find her standing up, one hand squeezing Draco’s shoulder. 

“Given what I’m seeing,” Harry said, flipping through the chart again, “there are two possible issues. And, for all I know, it could very well be both of them...”

He bit his lip and rubbed his chin in thought.

_ “Well?” _ Draco asked when Harry didn’t continue. “What are they?” 

He turned to face them both, folding his hands behind his back. “The first seems to be the more likely of the two,” he said, taking a seat once more. “An Intent issue.”

Astoria immediately let out a groan. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, dropping her head in her hands. “Did Daphne put you up to this?” 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Not at all,” he said. “I’ve come to this conclusion based purely on my own findings,” he said, holding the chart up for emphasis. “But I’d be interested to hear why you sound so sceptical.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “If I have to hear the words  _ Importance of Intent  _ one more time…” she said, shaking her head. “It’s beating a dead horse at this point.”

Draco nodded along with her. “I hate to say this about my own sister-in-law, but at times she can really be a one-show pony.”

Astoria frowned as she looked at her husband. “One- _ trick  _ pony,” she said. 

“No...one- _ show, _ ” Draco said. 

“I’ve heard they’re synonymous,” Harry offered helpfully. “But one-show really does  _ not _ make any sense.”

Astoria nodded in agreement. “Why was it only the one show? Was the pony only good enough for a single show? If so, then how does it only have one trick?” 

“It really just causes more confusion,” Harry said.

Draco merely rolled his eyes. “Can we just focus back on the point here?” 

Harry and Astoria looked at each other and silently agreed to let it go for now. 

“Daphne won’t shut up about my Intent,” Astoria explained. “It’s always: ‘Tori, you’d conceive if you just fixed your Intent issue’ or ‘You’d already be working on your second if you just focused on your Intent’,” she said, doing a spot-on impression of her sister. “It has to be more than that, it  _ has _ to be.”

Draco gave his wife a sympathetic look and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay,” he said, rubbing her arm up and down. “I don’t care what your sister or Potter say. Your Intent isn’t the issue.”

Astoria looked up her husband with big doe eyes and hugged him.

Harry tried to keep the bile from rising in his throat. “As much as it hurts me to say this, Draco’s right,” he said with a grimace. 

Astoria turned her head to look at him. “He is?” she said, her voice filled with hope.

“Well, partially. He’s right that your Intent isn’t the problem,” Harry said before letting his gaze rest on Malfoy. “But  _ his _ Intent is.”

Draco’s eyes widened. “Wha--m- _ mine? _ ” he asked, voice going higher in pitch.

“Yes, Stutters McGee, _ yours _ ,” Harry said.

“And how do you figure that, exactly?” Draco asked, tone caught between annoyance and uncertainty.

Harry rolled his eyes. “The magical scans I’m holding,” he said, waving them in front of his face.

“What about them in particular, though?” Astoria asked, her blue eyes narrowed as if not daring to have hope just yet.

“Well, it was easy, really,” Harry said with a shrug. “One of the first things I noticed was how reactive Draco’s magic was to his emotions. So I attempted to create scenarios that would elicit specific emotional responses from him that I could then compare to the independent variable--in this case, his emotions surrounding conception.”

Harry paused for a moment to make sure they were both following along. Astoria gestured for him to continue.

“Right,” he said, opening up their file to show them a series of graphs. “What the scans showed was the resulting impact on his magical signature from the following emotions: embarrassment, horror, worry, annoyance, anger, and finally...the unknown emotional variable of conception.”

Astoria and Draco exchanged a bewildered look before turning back to Harry. “And you’ve found something,” she asked, both of her hands squeezing Draco’s right.

Harry nodded. “When the topic of having a child was brought up, you can see that his magic was agitated,” he said, pointing to one of the graphs. “It showed similar properties to the graphs of fear, worry, and shame.”

Draco spluttered for a moment, glancing between Astoria and the graphs Harry was shoving in their faces. “But I’m not,” he insisted. “I’m not any of those things. I  _ want _ this.”

He turned to his wife and looked her in the eye. “I want a child with you, Tori,” he said, practically pleading with her to believe him. 

Astoria’s lips parted, her face set into a frown. “But is it true?” she said in a soft voice. “Does the thought of having a child make you feel all this? You feel  _ shame,  _ Draco?”

“Erm, if I might interject,” Harry said, holding up a finger. “The shame could simply be due to the additive effect of fear and worry. That is...he’s ashamed he feels this way. Not ashamed to have a child with you.”

Draco’s eyes briefly met his, and Harry spotted a flash of gratitude in them that seemed entirely out of place on the man’s otherwise arrogant-looking face.

Astoria blinked a few times and shook her head. “I still don’t understand. What’s making you feel all these things, Draco?” she said, placing a hand on his cheek. “You can tell me, you can  _ trust  _ me.” 

Harry stared at them. At Astoria’s hand on Draco’s face, at the thumb brushing back and forth across his skin. It was pure, unadulterated concern, affection, _ love _ . And for a moment, he was drawn to it, his eyes growing unfocused and his mind travelling to a place it hadn’t been to in what felt like years. 

Blonde hair, blue eyes, sweet French-lilted voice...

He closed his eyes and shook his head, focusing back on the conversation happening before him.

“I--I just...” Draco said before breaking off with a tired sigh. “It’s my father, Tori. I don’t want to be like him, it terrifies me to even  _ think _ of being like him. What if--what if I...I can’t...”

“Hey,” Astoria said, pulling him in for a hug and rubbing his back in comfort. “You are  _ not  _ your father, you hear me? You may have been a little snot when you were young, but you’ve changed so much, Draco. For the better.  _ All _ for the better. And you want to know something?”

Draco gave a quick sniffle and turned away to rub his eyes. “What?” he said.

Harry watched as Astoria turned his face back towards her. “I loved you even then,” she said, giving him a tender smile. “And I’ll love you always. Through all the good and all the bad.”

He nodded and rubbed at his eyes once more. “Even if I raise another snot like my father?”

“You won’t,” Harry interjected. 

They both turned to look at him in surprise, as though forgetting he was there. 

“I don’t even like you, and I can tell you that you’ve grown to be a much better man than he ever was,” Harry said, placing all the pages back in the file and gathering his things.

Draco stared at him, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. “Oh, er...thanks, Potter,” he said before correcting himself. “Harry.” 

Harry gave him a nod and stood up, glad for this case to finally be closed. It hadn’t been a very difficult one. Though it did require some ingenuity that he was certain other healers wouldn’t have attempted. 

But he couldn’t deny the feeling of pleasure he got from witnessing Astoria and Draco smiling ear-to-ear with newfound hope. Perhaps there were worse things in the world than Malfoy spawn. 

“Oh, Harry?” Astoria said just as he was about to walk out the door. 

He paused and turned around. “Yes?”

“What was the second issue you mentioned earlier? You said Intent was more likely, but there was something else as well?”

“Ah,” Harry said, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “I considered the fact that Draco might be gay.”

The sound of Draco’s spluttering left a smile on Harry’s face as he turned and walked out the door without another word.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“I just can’t believe it!” 

Harry let out a long sigh as he rested his head back against the couch.

“I asked you  _ weeks _ ago to get this done, and now look where we are!” 

He watched as Ginny paced in front of him with the letter in her hands, wrinkled from how often she’d crumpled it up. “You couldn’t answer a simple correspondence, and now we’re out a venue for our engagement party,” she said, placing her hands at her sides. “I don’t understand you sometimes, Harry. It’s like you don’t even  _ want  _ to get married!”

Harry realized he had yet to respond when Ginny turned around to face him, raising an expectant eyebrow.

“I do,” he said, looking up at her. “Ginny, of course I do. I just…”

She threw her hands up. “You just what?” she demanded. 

Harry stared down at his lap and shook his head. 

“Talk to me, Harry,” Ginny said, sitting down beside him and placing a hand on his arm. “What’s going on with you? You seem so distant lately.”

The words brought back the memory of Astoria comforting Draco in the exam room the other day. The way she’d been so patient, loving, and genuine with him that for a moment, Harry almost yearned for something he didn’t realize he’d been missing. 

But as he stared at Ginny now, he felt a brief moment of reassurance. 

Ginny listened to him, she comforted him, she was patient with him. She loved him. He was certain of it. 

“I guess I just miss you,” Harry said, placing a hand on top of hers. “I hardly see you these days, Gin. And I feel like I’m doing everything on my own here for the engagement party.”

She pursed her lips together for a moment. “You know this is my busiest time of the season,” she said, placing her hands back in her lap. “Finals are just around the corner, we have to practice harder now than ever.”

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I know,” he said. “Believe me, I know.”

Ginny frowned as she stared at him. “Then what’s the problem?” she said.

Harry thought about Tracey’s words from earlier that week. How she’d noticed a change in him that went far beyond his newfound punctuality and worth ethic. He knew Ginny’s feelings towards Tracey were less than friendly, but even Bill had mentioned something similar. 

“Do I seem different to you?” Harry said, his eyes meeting hers. 

Ginny leaned back a bit, looking surprised by the change in topic. “How do you mean?”

He gave a small shrug. “Have I changed?” he said. “In any way? For worse…for better?” 

Her face seemed to relax at that, and she smiled, taking his hand once again. “Definitely for the better,” she said, nodding. “And I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Hermione was just saying the other day how much of a positive impact I’ve been on you.”

Harry cleared his throat, carefully retrieving his hand from Ginny’s and leaning forward against his knees to stare down at the floor. 

“Look,” Ginny said, placing a comforting hand on his back. “We’ll figure out the venue. There’s another place I was looking into. Not as posh as the last one, a tiny bit more rundown, but...it’ll do. As long as we’re there together, right?”

“What if I hadn’t?” Harry said suddenly.

“What?”

He turned to look at her. “What if I hadn’t changed for the better? What if I’d stayed the same?” he said. “Would you still want to be with me? Would you still love me?”

_ ‘I loved you even then.’ _

Astoria’s words to Draco rang loud in Harry’s ears, bringing back the same rush of yearning he’d felt in that moment.

_ “And I’ll love you always. Through all the good and all the bad.” _

“Harry,” Ginny said with an amused smile, staring at him as though they were in on the same joke. “We’ve had an on-again, off-again relationship for years now. If we’re going to make this work, there’s going to have to be some changes.”

Harry swallowed hard and nodded. “Right, yeah,” he said, unable to get rid of the small twisting sensation in his gut. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

If there was one thing that bothered Fleur about living in England, beyond the inferior food and general dreariness, it was the decor. The English had always been conservative, incorporating little of the contemporary wizarding style. One needed to look no further than Hogwarts with its traditional non-pleated, plain black robes, dimly lit corridors, and bland tapestries. 

Fleur had embraced the culture without complaint when she’d married Bill, keeping all her disgruntled opinions to herself. But this was a whole new level of ghastly. 

She looked around the room, unable to keep the grimace off her face as she took in the decor of Harry and Ginny’s engagement party. How on earth had any designer agreed to this? Ceramic-white napkins, an ivory-white tablecloth, and off-white doilies all on the same table? It was an absolute eye-sore. 

Who even agreed to the doilies in the first place? How horrifically _ gauche. _

It was almost a relief that her dear little sister wasn’t around to see this. Gabby would’ve baulked at the very idea of an engagement party, let alone one with over a hundred guests. 

No, her little sister would have never made such an event out of something so lovely and cherished. Just a small gathering of those closest to her to share the news--parents, family, siblings, and her dearest of friends.

Fleur sighed as her eyes trailed over the centrepiece. A large off-white doily was set on the table with an ultra-modern bowl filled with antique candle holders. But instead of traditional style candles, there were glowing balls of light floating over them, leaving the candle holders completely redundant, serving only to clash with the rest of the decor. Traditional doily, modern bowl, traditional holders, modern light.

The entire centrepiece offended her on a stylistic level. But even worse than that, it spoke volumes about the couple being celebrated today.

She’d been hesitant to speak her true feelings about Harry and Ginny as a match. At first, Bill had convinced her that it was just her reluctance to see her darling brother-in-law with anyone but her dearly departed sister.

But as time had gone on, the feeling had only grown. Harry had been so full of life with Gabby. She’d enhanced him, just as he had done for her. Together the two of them became greater than the sum of their parts. 

Ginny and Harry, on the other hand, seemed to drain each other’s life forces the longer they were together. For a long time, neither had been willing to compromise or make changes. Instead, they’d pushed at each other, butted heads until Harry, the blessed man that he was, had finally begun to give in. It hadn’t been noticeable at first, even to Fleur. But over time, it had become abundantly clear that he was changing. And despite what Ginny and Hermione believed, Fleur knew it wasn’t for the better. 

If this was allowed to continue, Harry would only grow more and more bitter by the day.

In the end, Harry and Ginny were much like the elements of the centrepieces before her. Separate, they were lovely in their own unique ways. Together, they clashed, painting a stark picture that left much to be desired.

x-x-x

Fleur looked around the room until she spotted Harry and walked towards him with her jaw set firm. 

“We need to talk,” she said, taking his arm and dragging him to the back corridor.

“Whoa,” Harry said, releasing his arm from her grip. “Slow down, what’s going on?”

Fleur pursed her lips. “I should be asking you that,” she said, folding her arms tight. “Look around, Harry. Have you  _ seen  _ this place?”

Harry looked up and down the corridor before turning back to Fleur, one eyebrow raised in question.

She let out a huff of exasperation. “The main hall,” she said, gesturing behind her. “It’s an absolute eye-sore. Nothing matches, there’s ten shades of white, it’s both modern  _ and  _ traditional, it’s extravagant in some parts and bare in others. And for Merlin’s sake, all the guests bought gifts from  _ Quality Quidditch Supplies _ . Does any of that seem remotely okay to you?”

Harry’s face fell at this. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. “What are you suggesting, Fleur?” he said. 

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it in comfort. “I’m suggesting that zero effort went into this party because both members of the relationship couldn’t be bothered to care.”

He shook his head at this. “No. Ginny and I...we just haven’t been on the same page lately, okay?” he said. “We’ve both been busy. Ginny with Quidditch, me with bloody Draco Malfoy. We just…”

“You just what?” Fleur said, letting her voice grow softer. “Talk to me, Harry. You’re a brother to me still, you know that. After Gabby…”

The look on Harry’s face at the mention of her sister’s name broke her heart. No matter how much he pretended otherwise, she knew he’d never be able to move on from her death completely. 

Neither would Fleur. 

“You and Gabrielle were soul mates, Harry, I know that,” she said. “You were perfectly in sync. Better together, but just as great apart. And you know how I know that?”

Harry visibly swallowed. “How?”

“Because she never changed you,” Fleur said firmly. “You were still the same old, prickly knotface you always were, but with more smiles and laughter. And more importantly than all that...your heart never changed, Harry. You’ve always had the biggest heart. ”

He looked down at the floor, shoulders slumped. “You think I’ve changed, too.”

Fleur stared at him in sympathy. “In some ways, yes,” she said. “For the better, but also for the worse.”

Harry nodded as though expecting this answer.

“You haven’t got that light in your eyes anymore,” she said with a sad smile. “I remember hearing you speak about cases in the past. You were always so excited, so exhilarated. It was like a high to you. Even outside of work. You had this...presence. Bold and brash. You never cared what anyone thought of you. And don’t get me wrong, there have been good changes. You’re more punctual, reliable, you follow more rules.”

Harry’s face grew disgruntled at her words. “I sound like a prat.”

She let out a small laugh. “You know I love Ginny,” she said. “And I love Hermione. But I fear they’re attempting to transform you into someone you’re not meant to be. There’s nothing wrong with keeping the good. But I just wish I could see more of your spirit, Harry. I miss it. I really do.”

Harry cleared his throat as he continued staring at the floor. “So...how do you propose I get it back?”

Fleur sighed and placed a hand on his cheek. “I can’t really be the one to tell you.”

He swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah, I was worried you might say that.”

x-x-x

Astoria frowned as she overheard the last of a quiet conversation taking place between Harry and Fleur Delacour. 

They both turned their heads at the sound of her footsteps entering the corridor.

“Sorry,” Astoria said with an embarrassed smile. “I was just...”

Harry straightened up at the sight of her. “Ah, Astoria,” he said, with a polite smile. “I didn’t realize Ginny invited you. Is your prat of a husband here as well?”

Astoria gave him an unimpressed look. “Yes, Draco is here,” she said. “Sorry to interrupt, I was just looking for the loo.”

“Oh?” Harry said, facing lighting up. “Need a place to spew those guts out, do you?”

Both Astoria and Fleur frowned and stared at him in confusion.

“Cause you’re preggers?” Harry said by way of explanation.

Fleur clicked her tongue loudly and smacked Harry across the shoulder. “Mind your manners!”

Astoria merely rolled her eyes. “I’m not pregnant, yet, no,” she said. “But thanks so much for your concern.”

“Huh...not what I was expecting,” he said, rubbing his chin in thought. “But no matter. Patience is a virtue, eh?”

He patted Astoria lightly on the stomach before giving them both a nod and walking back out the corridor. 

Fleur shook her head and offered Astoria an apologetic frown. “You’ll have to excuse him, he’s not right in the head sometimes,” she said, holding out a hand with a smile. “I’m Fleur, by the way.”

Astoria accepted the handshake. “Yes, I know. I’m Astoria Malfoy.”

Fleur’s eyes widened at this. “Ah, I see,” she said. “Yes, I’ve...heard about you.”

“Oh?”

She looked slightly abashed. “Well, there are rumours, and...Harry’s not very tight-lipped about who he’s treating.”

“How wonderful,” Astoria said with a sigh. “But it’s not like all of Britain doesn’t already know that Draco and I are trying to conceive a baby.”

Fleur gave her a sympathetic frown. “Look, I know I’m a stranger to you, but...I’ve been there,” she said, placing a hand on her arm. “My husband and I struggled to conceive our second child for years, but we managed it eventually. And...I know Harry is not the most pleasant person to be around, but he’s an excellent healer.”

Astoria wasn’t sure what to say to that, feeling momentarily taken aback by the woman’s words. “Did you and your husband see Harry, as well?”

“Oh, God no!” she said with a laugh. “No, luckily I got pregnant before having to go through all that. I was fortunate to have my maman to speak to on these matters. She struggled with conception issues as well.”

Astoria felt something in her sink at those words. She stared down at the floor for a moment and breathed out a shaky breath. “Yeah...I’ve often wondered if…” she said before shaking her head. “My mum...well, she passed away years ago.”   
  


“Oh,” Fleur breathed out. “I’m so sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine…”

Astoria nodded. “It’s okay…” she said, looking back up at her. “I’ve just been thinking about her a lot more these days. Sometimes I wonder if losing her...well--maybe it’s had more of an impact on me than I ever thought it would.”

“How do you mean?” Fleur said, eyebrows furrowed.

Astoria shrugged. “She died when I was so young. My father raised my sister and I,” she said, staring down at her fingernails. “I’ve never told anyone this before, but...I think a part of me is terrified that I won’t know how to be a mother myself because of it.”

Fleur shook her head at once. “No. No, you mustn’t think like that,” she said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me, no one knows how to be a mother at first. You learn as you go. You give your children as much love as you can, and sometimes that’s all you can do. But it’s enough. Believe me on this. You’re going to a fantastic mother.”

Astoria swallowed hard, feeling a lump growing in the back of her throat. And before she realized what she was doing, her arms were around Fleur in a tight hug. 

Fleur shushed her in comfort, patting her back gently. “There, there. Chin up, chéri,” she said. “This attitude won’t help you make a baby. And I’m sure the last thing you want is to spend even more time in Harry’s office.”

She let out a watery chuckle. “He really is the worst sometimes,” she said, wiping her eyes.

“He’s not usually like this,” Fleur said with a sad smile. “It seems the stress of his relationship has finally caught up to him. And unfortunately, we all have to suffer for it.”

Astoria raised an eyebrow. “His relationship with Ginny Weasley, you mean?” she said. “Are they having problems?”

Fleur sighed and closed her eyes. “Let’s just say...it’s an explosion waiting to happen.”

x-x-x

_ BOOM. _

A sound like a blast reverberated throughout the room. And for a moment, every occupant inside the main hall was shocked into silence.

“What was that?” Ginny said along with several others, all poking their heads around to find the source of the noise.

Harry and Ginny were sitting at the main table, directly perpendicular to the kitchen doors. And that detail would have been insignificant if it were not for what happened next. 

Like a cannon shot, the doors flung open and a violent flood of water burst forth. Harry quickly side-stepped it, but Ginny’s Quidditch-honed reflexes failed her when she needed them most. She let out a piercing scream as the giant wave crashed straight into her, drenching her from head to foot.

Several sighs were heard around the room as the water settled, everyone grateful to Ginny for serving as their human shield.

Harry stepped away from his sopping fiance and poked his head into the kitchen to find the waiters and staff gathered around a lone sink in the back, their eyes filled with wonder.

He let out a small chuckle and shook his head. “Of course,” he said, his gaze settling on a familiar piece of hardware attached to the sink. “Primjax faucet?”

One of the cooks nodded gravely. “Primjax faucet.”

Harry made his way over, spotting the tacky logo engraved on the side. “Don’t worry,” he told the kitchen staff. “I know just the man to call.”

x-x-x

“Oh, for the love of...” Zapmeister said as soon as he caught sight of Harry. “An emergency call on a Saturday night, and it just has to be you of all people, doesn’t it?”

“Zapmeister!” Harry exclaimed, throwing his arms out for a hug. “So good to see you.”

The young man shut his eyes for a second and then replied, “zap. Just zap. Lowercase z-a-p. That’s  _ it _ .”

Harry looked around with a grin. “Don’t worry, everyone. The Zapperdoodle will sort this out right away, so we can get back to it.”

“Yeah, well...I’ll just go and do that, then,” Zapperdoodle said, his shoes squeaking as he walked into the drenched kitchen.

Harry followed after him along with several other party guests who gathered at the entrance to peek in. Draco was at the head, his neck flushed in embarrassment at the scene he’d inadvertently caused. 

Everyone watched as Zapperdoodle got straight to work, opening up his magical toolbox and unsheathing his wand like a sword.

“Tell me, Zapperdoodle,” Harry said, loudly enough for Draco to hear. “You see this a lot with PrimJax faucets? Exploding pipes, gushing water, drenched floors?”

“Just zap is fine, thanks,” Zaperodactyl said, wiping off his forehead on his sleeve. “But there’s more to it than that, even.”

Harry felt giddy. “Oh?” he said. “Please, do inform us.”

The young man shrugged and threw a rag over his shoulder. “Different models had different problems,” he said, grabbing one of his instruments from the toolbox. “The first model had a flow issue--or just a lack of flow, really. Couldn’t handle variable pressures. They’d lock up to the point where you just had to relieve the pressure yourself, so to speak.”

Harry’s eyes found George’s in the crowd, pleased to find him holding back a laugh. “And this model?” he asked.

“Well...if I had to guess,” Zaperodctyl said. “I’d say it was an acceptance issue.”

“Acceptance,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “Like the water is flowing, but the faucet won’t accept it?”

Zaperodctyl stopped what he was doing to explain. “From the look of things, it appears the water can flow variably but the valve isn’t handling it well,” he said, turning back to the task at hand. “Sometimes you fix one thing only for another to break. For example, I had this job once where...”

But the rest of zap’s story was lost on Harry, his thoughts fixed instead on the sentence prior.

_ Sometimes you fix one thing only for another to break. _

Harry thought back to his encounter with Astoria in the corridor. For a moment, he’d been certain that she was pregnant. A few weeks had passed since their last visit to the clinic, and Draco’s Intent issue had been resolved. And Harry  _ knew _ they were trying. 

But still no luck.

His thoughts travelled to Daphne, to her study on the Importance of Intent, and her failed efforts to diagnose Astoria. To Harry’s successful efforts in diagnosing Draco.

But what if he wasn’t completely successful? What if there was more to it than both he or Daphne could have hypothesized. 

Harry looked around until his eyes found Astoria and headed towards her at once, bumping and elbowing his way through the crowd.

“You grew up without a mother around,” Harry said, hauling one of Ginny’s Quidditch teammates out of the way. 

“Oi, watch it!” the unnamed woman cried.

“You lacked maternal role models your entire life?” Harry continued, undeterred. 

Astoria stared at him with her mouth hanging open. “Harry, what…” she said, looking around in embarrassment. “How do you even know that?”

Harry held back a groan of impatience. He’d forgive her the unnecessary question. It was a high-stakes moment. 

“You shared during one of your clinic visits that you and Narcissa discuss sexual matters with each other,” he said. “How Lucius is always rock-hard while Draco always needs some coaxing?”

“Oi!” Draco yelled out.

Astoria nodded. “That’s correct,” she said, shushing her husband. “But what does that have to do with--”

“That’s not something you’d talk about with a mother-in-law if your own mother was around to ask,” Harry continued, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Also, Daphne gave me your family history.”

_ “You little--!”  _ Draco said, trying to reach around a party guest to grab at Harry.

Harry leaned back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m right, aren’t I, Astoria?” he said, addressing her once more. “You’re worried about becoming a mother because you’ve never had one yourself.”

She bit her lip, staring down at the wet floor. 

Astoria looked to her husband and then back at Harry. “I- I….” Her mouth shut as she looked back at her husband. 

“You have an Intent issue, Astoria,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice gentle. “You’ve had some concerns before, enough that Daphne knew to look into it. But they didn’t develop into actual fears until Draco expressed his own insecurities that day in the clinic. They must have set yours off as well, enough to subconsciously affect your magic.”

“Tori,” Draco said, turning to face her. “Is this true? How on earth could you think that you wouldn’t be a good mother? 

She shrugged helplessly and rushed towards him for a hug. “I didn’t want to worry you,” she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. “After you brought up the thing about your dad, I started to worry about how I could be a proper mum if I never had one myself. And I love Narcissa, but...you were a right prat until shortly before we started dating, Draco. You know that.”

“I think we all know that,” George said. 

Several voices spoke up in agreement.

“...now the  _ last _ model has got some serious issues.”

Harry frowned as he looked over to Zapperoni who was so invested in his faucet talk that he’d been unaware of the conversation happening around him.

“Yeah?” Harry said, walking back over to him with an amused smile. “And what are those, Zapperoni?”

“It’s z--”

Harry waved him off with his hand. “Aren’t you going to tell us what the last model’s issue is, Zapperdingle?”

A cacophony of voices broke out behind Harry.

“Tell us!”

“Go on, tell us!”

“We want to know!”

“We’ve had like two different conversations since then, we’ve nearly forgotten what you were even talking about!”

zapt held up a hand to get everyone to simmer down. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you,” he said with a good-natured smile. “Now...the last PrimJax model failure is quite possibly the worst yet.”

The room was rapt with attention. 

Draco groaned.

“See, it’s the water itself,” Zappitydoodah said, using his hands as he spoke. “In an effort to aid in conservation, PrimJax charmed the water to continuously renew itself through a makeshift hydrological cycle. But here’s the rub...if you have even a drop left on you after you’ve used your faucet...it’ll stay there forever...doubling,  _ tripling... _ until you finally cast the counter-jinx.”

Several intakes of breath sounded in response.

Harry frowned in thought. “And which of the models are you working on now?”

Before Zappitydoodah could answer, a throat cleared loudly, interrupting the conversation. “ _Excuse me!_ ” Ginny exclaimed, pushing her way through the crowd, her shoes squelching loudly, leaving a trail of water in her wake. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe this is my engagement party, not another episode of Healer Harry!”

“ _ Our _ engagement party,” Harry said under his breath.

“Also, what the hell is wrong with this water?” Ginny said, twisting her hair and squeezing it out onto the already drenched floor. “I’m soaking!”

Her words caused the entire room to fall silent, the only sound the steady  _ drip drip _ of water droplets falling from Ginny’s fringe, down her face, and pooling off her nose to the floor. 

“Ginny, so good of you to finally join us,” Harry said, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “You just missed all the action.”

“Join you?” she practically shouted. “What about  _ me _ ? You just left me there to fend for myself while you ran off to find answers. My fingers are starting to prune, Harry!”

He sighed. “Look, can we talk somewhere else? It’s feeling a bit crowded in here.”

Ginny looked almost relieved. “Yes,  _ please _ .”

Harry brought his wand up to his throat and cast a Sonorous Charm. “Everyone, we’re moving back into the main hall. Zappitydoodah needs peace and quiet while he works.”

Zappitydoodah saluted him before sticking his head back under the sink. 

Once all the party guests were back in their seats in the main hall, Harry turned back to Ginny. “Right, let’s talk,” he said, his voice still amplified by the charm. 

“Say what you--” Ginny said before pausing. She brought her own wand up to cast the Sonorous Charm as well. “Say what you wanted to say to me before.”

Harry let out a heavy sigh as he tried to gather his thoughts. He knew what he needed to do. It had been at the back of his mind for weeks now, but recently it was all he could think about. His conversation with Fleur earlier had cemented it. “I don’t think we can carry on like this,” he said. “You and I, Gin. We’re just not good for each other.”

Ginny’s arms had been at her hips but they fell at his words, a spray of water hitting Harry in the process. “I wish I could say you were wrong, but...I’ve been thinking the same, Harry,” she admitted in a small voice. “You make me a worse person...and I make you a better one. It’s not fair to either of us.”

Harry took her slippery hands in his and stared at her. “Ginny, I love you, but...you’ll never compare to my soul-bonded, Gabby. At first, I thought it was because she and I were soulmates,” he said, giving Ginny a warm smile. “But it turns out, you just make me miserable.”

“I understand,” Ginny said with a nod, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering from her still-moist robes. “It was like that with Jean-Jaques Pierre-Phillipe Babineau-Béliveau.”

Harry quirked his head to the right. “Who?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” she said, shoving him in the chest. “My deceased husband, you pillock!”

Harry wiped at the damp spot on his shirt. “Ah, that’s right. Bighead Garcon--”

“Cédille included!” George yelled out, to which Harry nodded in thanks.

“Bighead Garçon,” Harry corrected, looking back at Ginny who was in the middle of flicking a water droplet from the end of her nostril. He blinked as it hit him in the face. “So…is this it, then?” 

Ginny sighed, staring around the large room with a frown on her face. “Yes, Harry,” she said, her eyes fixed on the centrepiece of the table nearest them. “This is it. I think it’s safe to say you and I will never work out.”

A collective sigh was heard around the room at those words.

“So we’re done?”

“Yes, Harry. We are done.”

Harry grinned, feeling a weight lifting from his shoulders, shivers spreading inside his chest and firing to the tips of his fingers. 

He had a brief moment of deja vu, his mind flitting back to a memory of a scene much like this one. Only it was Ginny’s wedding years ago. And he was with Gabby instead, his wife, his beloved, his soul bonded, the love of his life. They were standing in the centre of the room, kissing for the first time. An explosion of fireworks setting off inside him. 

He could almost feel them in this very moment, vibrating in his chest, practically hear them going off around him.

He could  _ hear _ them going off around him.

Harry separated from Ginny and looked around at the ceiling where several indoor Weasley Wildfire Whizbangs were being set off at once. 

“What’s going on?” Ginny exclaimed. “What is the meaning of this?”

He turned to see Ginny rushing towards George, sidestepping two large puddles on the floor on her way.

_ “You,”  _ Ginny hissed, reaching out to grab George by the shirt. 

George held his hands up in defence. “I can explain.”

“Can you? Be my guest!” Ginny said, her hands leaving pools of wetness on the fabric. “Why did you bring fireworks to  _ my _ engagement party that contained the message  _ ‘Welcome back to the Bachelor-Club Harry!” _

“Well, it was either this or the wedding,” George said as if it were obvious. “ We’ve been taking bets on it for weeks.  Big event, you and Harry in attendance. Something was bound to happen, it always does.”

Several murmurs of agreement followed his words, and Harry nodded along with them. 

Ginny clenched her fists tight, causing a stream of water to shoot off them. “Look, I can handle a horribly organized venue, I can handle a PrimJax faucet bursting and shooting me with a jet of water, I can handle never being dry again for as long as I live. And I can most definitely handle breaking off an engagement with my on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again, on-again boyfriend,” she said, her face turning redder and redder by the second. “But I draw the line at  _ custom message fireworks!” _

At this, she turned on her squeaky heel and stomped out of the hall, slamming the large double doors so hard that the off-white doilies on the table nearest the door flew off and landed right into a large puddle on the ground.

“Well...I quite liked it, George,” Harry offered with a shrug. “And seeing as you all came here for an engagement party, but there’s no more engagement...that just leaves us with a party! We’ve got booze, food and entertainment all paid for. So...let’s pump it up, gang!”

As if on cue, Lee, the former MC now turned DJ, pointed his wand at the large speakers, causing  _ “Pump it Up”  _ by the Black Eyed Peas to start blaring at maximum volume. 

Everyone stood up at once and whooped loudly before breaking out into applause and dance.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“You know, I can’t believe how helpful that guy was,” Zapperdoodling said, leaning back against the porch step behind him with a glass of orange perfection in his hands.

“Brazilian Beta?” Harry said, sipping from his own glass. “Yeah, he’s always offering his services. Works at like sixteen different places, I’ve no clue how he does it.”

Zapperdoodling nodded in thought. “And the middle-aged man following him around making mean and sarcastic remarks?”

“Ah, that’s, Swiftie Stan. He is kind of an arse, yeah,” Harry agreed. “But he means well--when he’s not gushing about Taylor Swift. You’ll always find those two hugging.”

Zapperdoodling took another sip of juice as he continued staring at the scene before them. “You said your wife’s name was Gabby, right?” he said, turning his head to look at Harry. 

Harry gave a solemn nod. “That’s right, Zapperdoodling.”

“zap,” he said. “But that’s interesting, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean, Zapperdoodledingdong?”

Zapperdoodledingdong shrugged. “Just...interesting pattern. Gabby...Ginny…” he said. “Both start with G...both double letters. That on purpose, or…?”

“Huh…” Harry said, taking a moment to consider his words. “Gabbrielle has two double consonants... Maybe  _ that’s _ where I went wrong with Ginny? But no...I’m more inclined to believe that Gabby was my soul mate, and everyone after her just….won’t ever compare. Good thought, though, Zapperdoodledingdong.”

“zap,” Zapeolololololololololology said automatically. “So...what are you going to do then? Not date?”

Harry snorted in derision. “Just go celibate and make my poor godfather turnover in his grave?” he asked. “My poor Zapeolololololololololology, what would ever give you that idea?”

“I came all the way to Brazil with you, can’t you cut it with the nicknames?” zap asked, almost desperate.

Harry clicked his tongue. “Oh come on, mate,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Look at you. Look at that face! You’re  _ way  _ too cool for  _ zap. _ ”

zap sighed, hanging his head toward the floor before looking back up at Harry. “Fine, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. “ _ Fine.  _ But at least let  _ me _ pick the nickname.”

Harry considered this offer for a moment before nodding. “Fair,” he said. “What’ll it be, then?”

zap turned his glass of OJ around in his hands as he took a minute to think about it. “zapt,” he said, finally. “I like zapt.”

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. 

zapt smiled brightly. “Anyway, what are you going to do about the girl situation?”

“Ah...right,” Harry said, going back to the matter at hand. “See, now I know that there’s never going to be one girl out there for me that can fill the hole Gabby left. So...maybe you’re right. Maybe I should be looking for some _ bodies  _ instead of somebody. Thanks for the advice, zapt!”

zapt frowned for a moment before shrugging. “I’m not sure that's what I meant but… Cheers, I’ll drink to that.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Hey all, with the holiday season arriving, we’d like to make a request to all of you. The holidays aren’t easy for all, and many families require assistance from local food-banks. With Covid-19 going on, a number of regular food-bank programs are scrapped. This is a great year to find a local one to support. Nobody should be hungry at this time of year. Every dollar makes a difference, a real difference, in people’s lives. So, if you can, give and support to your means.

If you’re living in America, you can use the following website to donate: feedingamerica dot org

Thanks!

We’d also like to take a moment to thank/blame the following people:

Firstly, and most importantly, we’d like to thank zap. For no other reason than the fact that he is zap. We’re not sorry we harassed you for days on end. You have to admit, it was worth it.

Secondly, we’d like to blame Nauze. If the outline to his story had been done, this would have been chapter 4, not 3. The long-term dedicated employees of Eucla’s former Scurvy Clinic still curse the day you were born for introducing Orange Juice to the locals. You should be ashamed of yourself.

Thirdly, we need to thank Petrificus Somewhatus for writing the Importance of Intent. He gave us the plotline to all future HH chapters as well as his rights to the word Intent when he signed the SalTalStudios contract. We also want to remind you that your pay is still docked. And you’re still not getting that Christmas bonus. Contact our HR department if you’d like to appeal this decision. They are open noon to three pm on the sixth Thursday of the month. 

Fourthly, we’d like to thank PrimJax Inc. for failing in all of their endeavours. You made the plot richer just by being yourselves. Don’t ever stop being yourselves. Ajax, your application is being processed. Please await further instructions. You will be faxed a Myers-Briggs Personality test that you should complete forthwith in order to determine if you will fit the vivacious environment of SalTal Studios. We’d also like a DNA test. You don’t need to know why.

Fifthly and sixthly, we’d like to blame Triage & Rose for simply being too awesome. SalTal Studios would like to offer you a free tour of the premises along with one voucher for the Eucla Scurvy Clinic.

As always, you stay classy, Euclanites!


	5. Harry & Gabby - An Interlude

**AN: This interlude is set after the events of Chapter 1.**

Fleur watched with a small smile as her energetic sister bounced around the room. Only her own children could rival Gabby’s level of excitement, but they were off staying with Arthur and Molly at the Burrow.

It was understandable, though. Today was a special day, just as it had been since they were little. Every year, Fleur, Gabby, and Maman would wake up early, stay in their pajamas, and prepare to spend the day celebrating Yule.

And this year was extra special because, for the first time, her little sister was bringing someone home with her. And not just any someone…Her _Soul Bonded_ partner.

Harry was joining their family celebration and Gabrielle’s excitement was infectious.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so happy,” Fleur said, her hand rising to her chest as she watched her sister skip down the hallway.

Apolline smiled. “You should have seen her when she and Harry first got together,” she said with a wistful sigh. “She came bounding out of the floo, practically aglow, radiating joy.”

Fleur nodded as she began to unpack the box with the unused supplies from last year. “I just hope he’ll be as good as Bill was his first year,” she said with a small sigh. “I don’t want to see Gabby disappointed.”

“You don’t think he’ll want to participate?” she asked with a frown, pausing in the act of setting Yule decorations on the dinner table to look at her. 

“Well...you’ve met him,” Fleur said, her lips tightening as she considered how to word her thoughts. “I have a hard time picturing him being as festive as Papa, or even Bill.”

Apolline rested a hand on Fleur’s shoulder. “You needn’t worry,” she said with a reassuring look. “Your father wasn’t even remotely interested in our traditions at first. He’d just go through the motions for my sake. But then you girls came along, and he couldn’t help but be roped in. I’m sure Harry will be the same.”

Fleur smiled, giving her a one-armed hug. “Papa humours us. He enjoys it, yes, but he’d much rather sit in his chair, pour himself a drink, and relax all day,” she said with a giggle. “Just like Bill.”

“Those two are the same, yes,” Apolline said with a nod.

“The only difference would be Bill running off to play quidditch in the snow with his siblings,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Apolline let out a light laugh. “At least he participates and does his best to make it look like he enjoys it as much as we do,” she said. “That’s really all we can ask of Harry.”

Her mother had only just finished speaking when Gabrielle dashed back into the room, her hands full with more boxes than was wise to carry. “I brought all the rest out,” she said, her eyes alight with merriment as she put them down. “We just need to unpack and set everything up before my Honey and Bill come.” 

Fleur watched as she pulled out garland from the first box and danced around the room, humming her favourite tune as she began decorating.

After years of suffering, years of not knowing what was wrong with her, Gabby was finally able to live normally, with a man she loved more than life itself. Fleur had felt guilty marrying Bill and having a child when her poor sister hadn’t even been able to kiss a boy without disaster striking.

But as she caught her mother’s eye, they both shared a contented look. Things were finally as they should be. Both sisters were with wonderful men, and they’d have the whole family together to celebrate Yule when the girls got back from the Burrow. 

She just hoped Harry had a modicum of festivity today, even half as much as Bill would do. Over time, Harry could learn to appreciate it. He might even grow to participate as much as Papa, if and when, they had children of their own. 

Fleur smiled fondly at the thought.

x-x-x

“He’s here! Everyone, he’s here!” Gabby shouted, her hands pushing back the curtains as she glued her nose to the window. 

Fleur raised an eyebrow before turning to Bill. “I can’t decide if it’s sweet or concerning,” she muttered.

“The latter. Definitely the latter,” he said back. “I mean, come on...have you met Harry?”

She held back a laugh just as a knock on the door sounded. 

“I’ll get it!” Gabby said, jumping up and racing to the door. She pulled it wide open and held her arms out in a welcoming hug. “Cupcake!”

“Muffin!” Harry said back, picking her up in his embrace and swinging her around. 

“Oh! How sweet,” said a new voice in the room. 

Fleur turned around to see her mother watching the scene with adoration in her eyes, her fingers pressed to her lips. “Come, Harry, come,” she said, ushering him inside. “Bill, take his things upstairs, would you? I need to get acquainted with my new son.”

“They’re not married yet, Apolline,” said the gruff voice of Fleur’s father. “Jean-Claude Pierre-Patrice Delacour-Béliveau. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry broke away from Gabby to accept the handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, as well,” he said. “That name…”

Jean smiled good-naturedly. “I’m not surprised if it rings a bell,” he said. “I do have a family member up in Britain. A second cousin yearly-removed.”

“Yearly-removed?” Harry said with a curious frown. 

“Yes, we don’t associate with them, so we keep trying to remove them from the family every year.”

Harry nodded in understanding. 

“He’s rather full of himself. That whole side of the family is,” Jean explained, lip curled in distaste. “This one went off and got married to some superstar Quidditch player. Threw an extravagant wedding that must have cost a fortune.”

Bill tensed besides Fleur but remained silent. 

“Well, that’s just unnecessary,” Harry said, putting an arm around Gabby’s shoulder. “My Soul Bonded and I would never do such a thing.”

“You know, I could tell that right away just by the look of you,” Apolline said, patting Harry’s cheek.

Fleur cleared her throat loudly to prevent Bill’s muttered comments from being heard. “Anyway,” she said, walking towards them. “Harry, once you get settled, you can join us in the kitchen. We have these traditions we like to do every year, and you’re just in time for the first one: baking a cake together!”

Harry’s eyebrows raised in interest. “Oh?”

“Yes, Blueberry-Muffin, you’ll absolutely love it!” Gabby said, tugging on Harry’s arm. 

Fleur braced herself for a negative reaction, recalling the first time she’d explained their traditions to Bill. 

_‘Baking? I’ve never baked a thing in my life. And we have to decorate it too?’_

“Oh, wow. Okay...then I suppose...it’s lucky I packed my apron!” Harry said with a bright smile, opening up his suitcase and summoning it. “What do you think?”

Fleur let her eyes travel over the bright red apron that Harry placed over his neck and tied around his waist, the words ‘ _We Whisk You a Merry Christmas’_ printed on the front.

Gabby gasped, her hands coming to her mouth. “How did you know to bring it, Butter-Tart?”

“Dunno, I just thought it might come in handy!” Harry said with an adorable shrug.

Fleur looked around to see her maman grinning widely and her papa nodding his head, impressed.

“Go on, Bill, take his bags,” Apolline said, waving him off. “Harry, into the kitchen with you!”

Without a second’s hesitation, Gabby grabbed Harry by the elbow and led him inside. Fleur followed after, giving an apologetic look to Bill over her shoulder, before helping the pair retrieve the ingredients. 

“We like to bake the cake in the shape of France,” Gabby explained while Harry cracked eggs over a bowl. 

“Oh?”

Jean looked over his paper and eyed Harry. “No problem with that is there, Harry?”

Harry smiled. “None whatsoever,” he said, giving Gabby an affectionate look. “J'aime la France.”

The girls ‘aww’d’ in response. 

“You know...I like this one,” Jean said, pointing a finger at him. 

Apolline nodded in agreement. “So, Harry,” she said, turning to him, “while we set the cake in the La Cornue Grand Palais 180 Kitchen Range to bake, we always like to get started on our second tradition: carolling.”

Fleur paused in her search for the All-Clad Nonstick Pro-Release Rectangle Baking Pan in the cabinet and looked over her shoulder at Harry. He may have been up for the baking traditions, but surely he would draw the line at carolling. 

Merlin, she could remember how much of a fight Bill put up the first time. 

_‘Singing, Fleur? I’m a terrible singer. And going door to door? You know I hate going anywhere.’_

“That’s fantastic!” Harry exclaimed, accidentally spraying Gabby’s face with batter as he pulled out the Le Creuset Revolution Acadia & Teal Stainless Balloon Whisk in his enthusiasm. 

She giggled as Harry wiped it off with his finger and stuck it in his mouth, the Delacour girls cooing in response. 

With a sigh, Fleur turned back around and resumed her search for the baking pan, moving aside several Farberware Reliance 3pc Aluminum Nonstick Frying Pans in the process.

x-x-x

Fleur squinted as she twirled her wand, watching the colour slowly brighten to what she required. Once she had the perfect shade, she began to delicately charm it into place. Paled Turquoise for the base, Antique Silver for the details, and Sunset Gold to top it off.

She bit her lip as she focused on ensuring that she didn’t make a single mistake decorating her portion. With three couples this year, they were able to split the cake of France into thirds, much like they’d done as children. In the past, it was Fleur, Gabby, and Maman competing to out-decorate each other. 

But once Bill had joined the family, he and Papa had teamed up with their significant others, creating an unfair handicap for Gabby who had always been the most creative of the bunch. This year, however, she had Harry on her side. And Fleur wasn’t quite sure if that would help or hinder her. Enthusiasm only went so far if one didn’t have the skills to back it up.

With that thought in mind Fleur’s eyes dipped over to see how Bill was making out. She frowned and shook her head.

There was a reason it had always been Maman and Gabby competing to win since she’d married Bill. Sure, he did enough, decorating his portion of their third. But the not-quite-forest-green of the trees and the brown mixed between mocha and umber of the trunks left much to be desired. It had taken some neat spellwork, but Bill was capable of so much more if only he put in the effort.

Fleur sighed and looked to see how her parents were doing.

She caught Maman gently patting Papa on the back in comfort as he stepped away, most likely leaving to prep the stockings. Their third of the cake was a vibrant display of decorating finesse. Yellows, reds, and oranges, all so tastefully used. 

“Maman, you’ve truly outdone yourself,” she said with a warm smile. “It looks just like the one we made when I was twelve.”

Her mother reached over and placed a hand on her arm. “It does, doesn’t it?” she said. “I always did love that one best.”

“Me too,” Fleur said, squeezing her hand.

As her eyes roved over the rest of the cake, Fleur heard her maman inhale sharply.

She looked up to see the woman’s hands covering her mouth, and then followed her line of sight. 

It was Harry and Gabby’s portion. 

Fleur lowered her jaw to say something but no words came out.

“How did you do this?” Apolline asked in awe.

Her little sister turned her head, her smile so big it threatened to split her face in two. She hung onto Harry’s arm, holding it tenderly, as he continued putting the finishing touches on their portion.

“Well, I came up with ideas,” Gabby said, almost chirping the words. “But it was my Sweet-Sugar-Plum that made it come to life. He taught me how to charm the icing.” 

She squeezed Harry’s arm again, hugging it for all she was worth, pure adoration in her expression.

“It wouldn’t be half as great without the help of my Extra-Sweet-Ginger-Snap,” Harry said, looking down at Gabrielle, his eyes full of love.

Their portion of the cake was almost breathtaking. Miniature scenes set in motion were depicted like a topography over the landscape of France. Near Bordeaux, grapes grew from vines, little people harvested them, crushed them, and turned them into wine. Near the south coast was a beach filled with people swimming, tanning, and building sandcastles.

It was marvellous. Beautiful. Exquisite.

“I’ve only ever seen this done professionally,” Fleur said, her eyes focusing on Harry. “Is the charmwork very difficult?”

Harry turned his green eyes on her and chuckled gaily. “No, of course not,” he said before he smiled down at Gabby and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s just about the Importance of Intent, really.”

“The Intent?”

“Yes, exactly,” Harry said, looking back up at her. “You imbue it with magic and focus your Intent on what you want.”

“So simple,” she heard Bill mutter under his breath.

Fleur had nearly forgotten he was there. She placed her hand on his thigh and gave it a hard squeeze. Her section was the most elegant, her mother’s was the most vibrant, but neither could even touch the magnificence of Harry and Gabby’s.

She glanced back at the young couple. Harry had three whisker marks drawn on his face that moved and swayed as if they were real, and he was putting matching marks on his Soul Bonded partner. Fleur’s hand went to her heart as she did her best not to melt on the spot. Those two were just too cute, lost in their own little world.

“Did you want to do something like that?” Fleur asked her husband, gesturing toward the pair.

Bill scoffed. “Put icing on each other’s faces?” he said, raising his eyebrow. “I’d rather not, no. They look silly and childish.”

Fleur frowned. “Well...I think it’s cute and endearing.”

“Sure,” Bill said laughing lightly. “But I’d still rather eat the icing than dress myself with it.”

“Get back here, my Fresh-From-The-Oven-Cinnamon-Twist,” Harry’s jubilant voice rang out, cutting off Fleur’s reply.

His face was splattered in the leftover icing Maman had been using, and he was chasing Gabby as she dashed behind chairs, doing her best to evade him. Fleur and Apolline watched the scene with fond smiles and couldn’t help but coo at them. 

They were just too cute.

x-x-x

“Alright, what’s next up next?” Harry said, rubbing his hands together. “This day just keeps getting more and more exciting.”

“This has _got_ to be a joke,” Bill said quietly next to Fleur.

She scowled at him. “Don’t be such a Scrooge, William,” she said, pinching his side. “Perhaps you could show a bit more enthusiasm yourself.”

Before he could respond, Gabby clapped her hands together loudly and shot up from her seat. “Well, before we get on to our next activity,” she said with a coy smile. “We all wanted to give you a little something, first.”

“We did?” Bill said. 

Fleur pinched him again. 

“Close your eyes, my Sweet-Cinnamon-Churros-With-Custard-Filling,” Gabby said. 

Harry shoved his hands under his glasses and covered them, at once, bursting at the seams in excitement.

With a wave of her wand, Gabby summoned his gift from upstairs and laid it on his lap. “Now open!”

“Oh...oh, my Powdered-Sugar-Peanut-Butter-Fudge-Brownie...look at this,” Harry said, holding up the Northlight 20" Red and White Plush Traditional Christmas Stocking with Cuff in his hands, his eyes turning a bit glassy as he took in all the details. 

Gabby had gone out of her way to personalize Harry’s stocking. A large, green letter H was stitched in the middle surrounded by various little objects. Some Fleur understood the context of: a snitch, a broomstick, a stethoscope. And others, she very much didn’t: a jester’s hat, a rubber chicken, an orange. 

Harry seemed to understand every bit of it, however, not that Fleur was surprised. Together the pair hung Harry's stocking next to the others on the mantel above the fireplace.

"Are you ready for our next activity, Harry?" Apolline said, sharing a secret look with Gabby and Fleur. 

A soft groan was heard from Bill’s corner of the room, but the women ignored him. 

“Hide and SO seek!” Gabby said, practically jumping in her seat. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Gabby shook her head. “SO,” she said with a patient smile. “As in, S.O. For significant other!”

The women all nodded together.

“The three of us girls hide one gift from under the tree somewhere around the house for our S.O. to find.”

A wide grin stretched across Harry’s face in response. “I’m your S.O.,” he said, looking around at everyone. 

“That, you are, my Glazed-Honey-Bun-Cake-With-Pecans!” she said, leaning in to brush her nose with his. 

Fleur and Apolline sighed at the sight while Bill pinched the bridge of his nose and fell back against the couch. 

With a hard nudge in the leg, Fleur got Bill to stand up beside Harry, who was currently doing an active groin stretch in preparation for the game of Hide-and-SO-seek. Jean had ambled his way over as well, clapping a hand on Harry’s back. 

“Alright gentlemen,” Apolline called with a clap of her hands. “On your marks--”

“Since when is this a race?” Bill said, snapping his head up. 

“Get set!” Fleur continued. 

“Are you kidding me?”

“Go!” Gabby said.

Harry sprinted up the stairs, leaving Bill to stare after him in a daze. He turned to look at Fleur who was clenching her jaw tight. “Is he for real, right--?”

_“Go!”_ she said, causing him to jump in surprise before heading in the opposite direction towards the cellar. 

With a small huff, Fleur collapsed onto the couch next to Gabby who had a serene smile on her face. “Well, you seem like you’re having a great time,” she said, nudging her sister softly with her elbow. 

Gabby’s smile grew bigger. “Yes, well,” she said with a shy look, “Harry has really made this day extra special.”

“He’s a lovely dear, isn’t he?” Apolline said from her spot by the fireplace. “Why, I remember the first time I dragged Jean home for the holidays. He was a nightmare through every Christmas tradition my sisters and Maman put him through.”

“Was he really?” Gabby said with interest. 

Apolline nodded. “He’s still not very enthusiastic, clearly,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “Harry, though? He’s different. He’s been wonderful from the start.” 

Gabby grinned to herself. “He really has been, hasn’t he?”

As though summoned, Harry rushed into the sitting room, face flushed and with a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. “Got it,” he said, holding up a gift in Fa La La La La La La La La Llama Winter Holiday Cavallini Paper tied together with Grey Glitter Gold Edged Organdy Ribbon. “I got it!”

“So soon, my Cream-Cheese-Frosting-Topped-Red-Velvet-Cupcake?” Gabby said, bringing her hands up to her face in surprise. 

Harry shrugged humbly. “I just thought to myself, ‘where would my Pink-And-White-Sugar-Coated-Chewy-Biscuit hide my gift’, and then...it simply came to me,” he said. “Right under her Wamsutta® Medium Density Support Standard/Queen Stomach Sleeper Pillow.”

Both Apolline and Fleur grinned from ear to ear as Gabby threw her arms around her Beloved.

x-x-x

“If there’s one thing I look forward to every year,” Bill said, holding up a piece of cake on his 8.5"

Bernardaud Noel Dessert Plate in Red/White. “It’s this part. Sitting, eating, and relaxing.”

Fleur sighed. “We're not just sitting,” she said, glancing down at her progress. “You could be knitting mittens and a matching hat too, you know.”

Bill shook his head. “No thanks,” he said. “I’ll just enjoy a drink with Jean, stuff myself with cake, and make myself comfortable.”

Fleur rolled her eyes and concentrated back on the task at hand, knitting her toque and mittens to create a wintery scene. She was going for a nice soft blue that would bleed into white. Snowflakes would dot the blue sky and trickle down to the white landscape.

She was so lost in her work, that when she glanced up a few moments later, she was surprised to find that Harry and Gabby were missing. 

“Where did they go?” she said aloud, quirking her head toward their empty spot on the couch.

“To get changed,” Apolline said, a warm smile on her face.

Fleur frowned. “For what?”

“They finished knitting their matching mittens and hat,” Apolline said. “So Gabrielle told Harry about our next tradition, and he thought it would be best to dress up for it.”

“Matching?” Fleur said before letting out a wistful sigh. 

William had only ever participated in the knitting tradition once. And when he had, they were nowhere near matching. He’d chosen a horrendous red and gold colour, while Fleur had gone with a soft lilac.

Harry and Gabby, on the other hand, were like two peas in a pod as they walked back into the sitting room arm in arm. They were both wearing a knitted bright yellow star hat that looked as though it could belong atop the tree. On their right hands, half a heart was stitched around the words ‘Har’ and ‘Gabr’. And on their left was the other half of the heart with the words ‘ry’ and ‘ielle’.

Fleur stood up and walked over to her sister, marvelling at their handy work. Up close, she noticed even more details in the stitching that left her in awe: snowflakes, snowmen, small stars.

“Are you meant to be dressed as Christmas trees?” Fleur said, looking at her sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law who were both wearing green jumpers and brown trousers.

Gabby nodded. “It was my Butter-Shortbread-Cookie-Dipped-In-Dark-Chocolate’s idea,” she said, the excitement impossible to miss in her voice. “I told him about our next tradition of decorating the tree, and he thought it would be fun to decorate _each other,_ as well.”

Fleur looked over at her Maman, catching her eyes. They both cooed together as if on cue.

“Let’s get to it, shall we?” Apolline said, gesturing to the tree.

Without a second’s hesitation, Harry and Gabby bounded over with ornaments in hand. Harry reached up and put two just below the top of the tree on either side, while Gabrielle put two in the front at mid-height. They then turned to each other, wands in hand, and spoke an identical incantation. 

When they turned to face everyone, Harry had two ornaments on his jumper that matched what Gabrielle had just put on the tree, while she had two ornaments for earrings.

Fleur almost melted at how happy her sister looked with Harry. They were sickeningly sweet in the best of ways.

“William, would you want to do that too?” she asked, nudging him with her elbow.

“What?” he said before his eyes quickly scanned the room. “Dress up like a Christmas tree?”

He shook his head and snorted. “Not a bloody chance.”

Fleur reached down and pinched the inside of his bicep.

“Ouch!” he said, rubbing the spot with his hand. “What was _that_ for?”

She pressed her lips together in a thin line. “You don’t always need to act so macho, you know,” she said, biting back as much frustration as she could. “You could follow Harry’s example and actually involve yourself for once. But Merlin forbid, you have some fun.”

Without another word, Fleur stood up and made her way over to grab a couple of Vickerman 43" Silver 3-Finish Snowflake Christmas Ornaments. She waited her turn to hang them, and then couldn’t help but smile as both Harry and Gabby gained identical ornaments on their own trees. The two of them poked at each other with their wands, laughing, giggling, and simply having a grand time of things.

Fleur turned and looked back at her husband. He just sat there, butterbeer in hand, another slice of cake about to be shovelled into his mouth.

She shook her head. Would it really kill him to get up and help decorate?

x-x-x

It hadn’t taken very long to decorate the tree, and the room was quiet now as everyone sat and relaxed in the festive environment.

“Are we moving onto the next tradition now?” Harry said, practically vibrating with anticipation. 

At this, Bill threw him a look. “ _Next?”_ he said in disbelief. “Haven’t you had enough?”

Harry shook his head vigorously. “My Frosted-Sugar-Topped-Lemon-And-Lime-Tart said we’d go until we were out of energy,” he said, giving her a loving look. “And I don’t know about you, but I’m definitely not out of energy yet.”

Bill simply stared at him for a moment before looking at Fleur, then back to Harry. Then to Fleur. “Is this some kind of joke?” he said, mouth open in confusion. “If I have to do _one more_ damn tradition, I’ll--”

“You’ll what, William?” Fleur said, crossing her arms tight and glaring at him. “Go on, tell me! You’ve been absolutely insufferable since morning, and frankly, I’ve had enough of it!”

He threw his hands up and shook his head. “Oh, for the love of...Just because Harry’s acting like a niffler digging up a pot of gold, doesn’t mean we _all_ have to behave the same way, too. He’s been an absolute dickhead all day, and I’m tired of it.”

Gabby gasped and placed her hands over Harry’s ears. “Don’t you dare speak to my Warm-Piece-Of-Apple-Pie-With-Whipped-Cream like that!”

Harry gave his beloved a sad smile. “No, no. It’s okay, my Warm-Piece-Of-Apple-Pie-With-Vanilla-Ice-Cream,” he said. “Bill has a point. I’ve...been rather overeager today.”

“Hush you!” Gabby said, placing a comforting hand on his cheek. 

Harry closed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s just…”

“Just your _relatives_ ,” she said, spitting the word out. “I know they’ve never celebrated Christmas with you properly. You’re just so excited to spend it with real family this year.”

“Shh, it’s fine, my Melted-Triple-Chocolate-Cake-With-Crushed-Candy-Cane-And-Marshmallows,” Harry said, placing his hand on top of hers. 

“You don’t celebrate with your own family?” Apolline said, her hand reaching up and clutching her heart.

Jean straightened up in his seat at this, forehead furrowed in concern.

“Well...I…” Harry said, clearing his throat. “No. In fact...I’ve only ever celebrated with the Weasleys and my sister Hermione before.”

Bill’s face had brightened at the mention of his family’s Yule gathering, causing Fleur to silently fume at him. 

“For that, I should actually thank you, Bill,” Harry said, giving him a nod of gratitude. “And...if you feel frustrated with my enthusiasm today, I understand.”

Gabby clicked her tongue. “But my Godiva-Chocolatier-Medium-Biscuit-Assortment-In-Red-And-Green-Candy-Cane-Wrapping! You can’t really help having decades worth of pent-up Christmas Spirit to burn off,” she said, throwing her arms around him.

Fleur sighed in frustration as she turned to look at her husband. “Maybe Harry isn’t the problem here,” she said, levelling a burning stare at him. “Maybe it’s _you,_ William. You’ve been a right Grinch since we arrived, and you should apologize to Harry this instant.”

Bill spluttered for a moment, looking from one person to the next. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

All the Delacour women glared at Bill in response. Even Papa gave him a disappointed look.

“Son, this attitude does not look good on you,” Jean said, shaking his head. “In fact, right now you remind me of someone. Someone I try and remove from my family, yearly. His name is Jean-Jaques Pierre-Phillipe Babineau-Béliveau.”

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “Who?”

“Bighead Garcon,” Gabrielle said.

“Cedille included?” Harry said.

Gabby nodded. “Bighead Garçon,” she said, giving him an affectionate look before turning to Papa. “Harry remembers people best by their most prominent attributes, not their names.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Jean said, nodding before turning back to Bill. “And it’s never a good comparison, son. Their family line is almost at an end because their bigheads overinflate and explode.” He dropped his chin and shook his head.

“Ah, but at least you won’t have to yearly-remove them if that happens,” Harry offered. 

Jean’s face split into a grin as he let out a chortle. “Good man, Harry,” he said, pointing a finger at him. “You’re absolutely correct.”

Looking properly chastised now, Bill hung his head. “You’re right, Jean,” he said before giving Harry a look of remorse. “I apologize, Harry. Perhaps...all this time... _I’ve_ been the dickhead.”

Several gasps sounded throughout the room. 

“That’s alright, Bill,” Harry said gently, giving him a gentle smile. “I see you all as my family, and I’m just glad to be here and take part in your traditions.”

Fleur and Apolline cooed in response as Gabby threw herself onto Harry in a tight hug, kissing every inch of his face.

Jean cleared his throat. “Now that’s dealt with, we do have _one more_ tradition,” he said with a pleased look. “We like to have a glass of eggnog and spend the rest of the evening with family.”

Bill’s eyes shot open at that, his face turning a shade of red only a Weasley could pull off. “I...uhm...might have...forgotten that.”

“You really are an absolute knot face today, aren’t you?” Fleur said as all three women turned to glare at him, hands on their hips.

“No, no, that’s okay,” Harry said, coming to Bill’s defence. “The only tradition I need is for my Cocktail-Dress-Clad-Gingerbread-Woman-With-Matching-Sparkle-Earrings-And-Necklace-With-Chocolate-Berry-And-Butterscotch-Dips to be at my side and to be surrounded by family.” He dropped a kiss onto the top of her head.

“And all I need to make this the best Christmas ever is my Tuxedo-Suit-Clad-Gingerbread-Man-With-Matching-Sparkle-Shoes-And-Tie-With-Chocolate-Berry-And-Butterscotch-Dips,” Gabby said, staring up at him, her eyes hopelessly cooing with love.

At this, every occupant in the room stood up and cheered, including the couple themselves. 

Floating trays appeared in the center of the room and everyone grabbed a 4.5 oz La Rochere Perigord Champagne Flute of orange juice. 

“Well, it’s not eggnog,” Harry said, holding his glass up. “But OJ will do just fine, I think. Here’s to the best family Christmas I’ve ever experienced and many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many more with my beloved, Soul Bonded, love of my life, Gabby!”

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that!” everyone said in unison. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

AN:

Firstly, we’d like to blame Nauze for mispronouncing his own name. It’s Nauze. Not Nauze. We still aren’t over the closure of the Scurvy-Clinic.

Secondly, we’d like to thank Petri for not beta-ing the last chapter of HH. Those excessive commas, wouldn’t, be there, if you had, deleted them.

Thirdly, we’d like to blame Eucla, STS, and Flowerpot for their generous charitable giving. Without it, we wouldn’t have had an interlude interrupting our plans. The repurposing of Eucla’s Scurvy Clinic has joined the Hiatus Gang.

Fourthly, we’d like to thank Libbly for being the tireless leader of the Hiatus Gang. Without your supremely superb example, so many authors wouldn’t find themselves there. And thank you for investing in the new built-in sauna. Any chance we can discuss a new pool table in the rec room?

Fifthly, we’d like to blame Ajax for organizing this entire charity event which raised nearly $2000. If you’d like to donate, you can use the following link: extra-life (dot) org/team/55622

Also, we’d like to let you know, Ajax, that we received your Myers Briggs results and will ‘process’ them with your application at an indeterminate point in the future.

Sixthly, we’d like to thank Charlennette for joining the STS server. Please don’t leave. You’re stuck here now. Enjoy your complimentary orange juice. If you haven’t received it in the mail yet, please reach out to our Brazilian Beta, Nauze. He is overly helpful and takes care of these details for us. 

As always, stay classy, Eucla. And happy holidays!


	6. Birthday Interlude

_ Harry smacked his lips together, savouring the perfection that was Orange Juice. “I could see myself coming back here.” _

_ Neville raised his own glass of orange impeccability. "Cheers, I'll drink to that." _

“Tropicana 100% Pure Orange Juice With No Pulp And Added Calcium & Vitamin D, that’s not too shabby,” Harry said, eyeing it critically.

Scrunching his nose, Neville gave a small shrug. “Low pulp would have been better.”

_ “Actually,” _ said a silky smooth accented voice. “Pear Juice is better than OJ.”

Neville craned his neck away from Brazilian Beta who had just popped up behind him “Er...where did you come from?” 

“Pear Juice?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

Neville nodded in agreement. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who asked for pear juice in the morning,” he said, lifting his chin so he could look down his nose at him. “If pear juice is your go-to, then we really need to have a talk.”

Harry chuckled and shook his head. “Anyway, did you sneak up behind us just to chat about fruit juices, or...?” he said, taking a sip of his drink of sublimity.

Brazilian Beta straightened up, a determined look set on his face. “No, I came to see if you’ll tell me when your birthday is,” he said, an earnestness to his voice that couldn’t be faked.

“My birthday?” Harry said.

Neville frowned. “Why...do you want to know?” he said, turning in his chair to better see the man behind him. 

“I just like knowing,” Brazilan Beta said.

Harry hummed and furrowed his eyebrows. “How about, no?” he said.

“C’mon,” Brazilian Beta said, his bottom lip jutting out in an adorable pout. “Just a hint?”

Harry swirled his drink as he took a moment to consider the request.

“Just the month?” he said. “Pretty please?”

With a sigh, Harry shook his head. “No.”

“C’mon, Harry,  _ just the month, _ ” Neville said mockingly, stifling his laughter as he grinned at him.

Harry shot Neville an exasperated look. “Fine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “December.”

x-x-x

_ Harry raised his glass, “Here’s to the first ten. May we find a way to upstage Ginny and Bighead Garçon at their ten year anniversary.” _

_ Gabby smiled at her new husband, her Bonded, her Soulmate and the love of her life. “Cheers, I’ll drink to that.”  _

With a contented sigh, Harry placed his glass of Simply Orange 100% Low Pulp Low Sugar Premium Juice on the table and leant back in his chair. “Can’t get any better than this,” he said, gesturing towards the glass beside him.

Gabby gave a small shrug. “It’s lovely, yes,” she said, “but I think medium pulp would have been even better.”

_ “Actually,” _ came Brazilian Beta’s voice as he peeked over Gabby’s head, causing her to scream. “I really think apple juice is the way to go.”

“Merlin...” Gabby said, placing a hand over her heart. “Where did you even come from?”

“Apple juice?” Harry said at the same time, a look of disgust on his face. “Apple juice first thing in the morning?!?! What is wrong with you? OJ is the best breakfast drink. Apple juice if you are a child is acceptable.  **_It is known.”_ **

Gabby nodded seriously. “Never have I thought, ‘man, I’m parched, where’s that apple juice?’”

Brazilian Beta looked down at the ground and shook his head. “I didn’t come here to be harassed about my juice preferences.”

“Then…why  _ are _ you here?” Harry said. 

“Well, to ask about your birthday, of course,” Brazilian Beta said as if it were obvious. “Birthday. Gimme.”

Gabby raised an eyebrow at him. “What are you going to do with this information, Brazilian Beta?”

“Absolutely nothing, I’m just curious,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t have a devious bone in me.”

Harry and Gabby stared at each other, communicating silently.

“Well...my birthday is March 19th,” Gabby offered. 

Brazilian Beta let out a thoughtful hum. “A Friday, then.”

Gabby’s eyes widened in surprise. “How did you know that so fast?”

“My python program,” Brazilian Beta said, pulling out a 7.018 meter live python that made Gabby yelp and jump into Harry’s arms. “But anyway, Harry...when were you born? The 16th? The 23rd?”

“Are you picking Fridays because Gabby was born on a Friday, therefore I must have been?”

“Ahm, sure?” Brazilian Beta said before slumping his shoulders in defeat. “The 19th then?”

Harry gave a nod. “100%”

“The 19th?”

“That is 100% wrong.”

Gabby laughed. “Oh go on, Harry. Give him the day of the week at least.”

He sighed, knowing he could never deny his Soul Bonded anything. “Fine,” he said, turning to Brazilian Beta. “I was born on a Friday, too.”

x-x-x

_ "To a honeymoon in Brazil," Harry said. _

_ Ginny stared lovingly at her new fiance, her best friend, and childhood sweetheart. "Cheers, I'll drink to that." _

Harry frowned as he lowered his glass of Minute Maid 100% Medium Pulp Orange Juice From Concentrate With Added Vitamin A, D, E And B1. “That’s not bad,” he said.

Ginny’s nose crinkled in response. “It could use more pulp,” she said. “Mum always bought High Pulp Orange Juice. It’s the best.”

Harry shrugged and looked out at the horrendous weather.

“ _ Actually--” _

“Ah!” Ginny shreiaked, snapping her head around at the new voice. “Where’d you come from?”

“Oh, he does this,” Harry said, smiling at Brazilian Beta and waving. “We talk about the magnificence of orange juice and he pops up.”

Ginny was still breathing heavily, working to regain her composure.

“Pineapple juice is better,” Brazilian Beta said. “Far more flavour and not too sugary.”

“But why is he here?” Ginny said, looking between the two of them.

“Do you know Harry’s birthday?” Brazilian Beta said, not bothering to beat around the bush.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “Of course.”

“When is it?” he asked, his eyes growing large.

She crossed her arms. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because I really, really,  _ really _ want to know,” he said, pouting adorably. “Can’t you just tell me?”

“Fine-”

_ “No-”  _

Harry and Ginny looked at each other for a moment then back at Brazilian Beta.

“We’re in December now,” Brazilian Beta, clasping his hands together in a pleading gesture. “At least let me know if I’ve already missed it.”

Harry gave a thoughtful frown as he considered his next move. “You haven’t, and I’ll even tell you it’s not the 25th or 31st.” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “My birthday hasn’t happened yet.”

Ginny let out an annoyed sigh at that point. “Look, sorry to cut _ whatever _ this is,” she said, gesturing between the two of them, “but we’ve got a performance to catch, Harry.”

She got up from her seat and stepped around the table, moving past the barrier of the charm Harry had cast to keep them dry.

The torrential downpour hit her at once, thoroughly soaking her. Her feet were almost ankle deep in water, her hair clung wet to her head. She stepped back into the charmed area with a yelp, dripping water all over the dry ground.

“And  _ this _ is why I  _ didn’t _ want to sit out on the patio,” she said through gritted teeth as water pooled on her forehead before running down her face, dripping off the end of her nose.

Harry took a final gulp of his scrumptious drink. “If you had just sat down and enjoyed your drink, you wouldn’t have gotten wet,” he said, shutting his eyes and relaxing to the blissful sound of raindrops falling to earth.

“And if you hadn’t bitterly complained throughout the  _ entire _ performance yesterday, I would have caught more than  _ half _ of it,” Ginny said before huffing out a breath, causing water to spurt out in front of her.

With a long sigh, Harry allowed himself to be tugged to his feet. “Fine,” he said, bidding farewell to Brazilian Beta. “I’ll bring ear plugs and an eye cover. There’s no way I can watch that two-bit ballet performance again.”

x-x-x

_ “Ah...right,” Harry said, going back to the matter at hand. “See, now I know that there’s never going to be one girl out there for me that can fill the hole Gabby left. So...maybe you’re right. Maybe I should be looking for some bodies instead of somebody. Thanks for the advice, zapt!” _

__

_ zapt dos frowned for a moment before shrugging. “I’m not sure that's what I meant but… Cheers, I’ll drink to that. _ ”

“It doesn’t get much better than  Organic Florida’s Natural Fresh-Squeezed No Added Sugar High Pulp Juice With Added Calcium, Potassium, Iron, Magnesium, Zinc, Phosphorus, and Omega-3 Fatty Acids From Fish Oils,” Harry said, smacking his lips together. 

zapt dos nodded with a pleasant smile. “I agree completely,” he said. “This is the perfect amount of pulp.”

“Good man, zapt dos,” Harry said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Brazilian Beta, you there?”

“You guessed it,” Brazilian Beta said from behind zapt dos who let out a manly shriek of shock. “And I’ve brought a good friend of mine with me, too.”

“Ey, Swiftie Stan!” Harry greeted. “How are you?”

“That’s not important,” Brazilian Beta cut off, pushing Swiftie Stan away. “Two things, Harry. First: You’re wrong. Watermelon juice is better than OJ.”

Everyone collectively groaned. 

“It’s like you’ve never seen another fruit besides an orange,” Brazilian Beta said, shaking his head. “Now onto the second thing: Harry. Hey. You. Yes. You. Bday. When. Is. It? Tell me! TELL ME. Please?”

“In December.”

“I said  _ day _ , not month,” Brazilian Beta said, leaning forward.

“It is a day in December, yes,” Harry said, a large grin forming on his face.

“Whiiiiiiich?”

Harry let out a hearty chuckle. “I’ve knocked it down from 365 possible days to less than 31, you figure it out.”

“Must be cool to have friends that want to know your birthday, Harry,” Swiftie Stan said, interjecting into the conversation once more. 

“Swiftie….” Brazilian Beta said in a chiding tone.

Swiftie Stan burst into loud obnoxious laughter.

“I did ask you yours,” Brazilian Beta said, his face drawn into a frown.

“When?” Swiftie said.

“You didn’t reply,” Brazilian Beta said, placing his hand on his shoulder. “Same day I asked Harry’s.”

Swiftie shrugged. “I must not have heard it because I don’t care,” he said. “What’s your obsession with birthdays anyway, Brazilian Beta?”

“Do I need a reason?” Brazilian Beta said. 

“Well, yeah,” Swiftie Stan said. “I can’t just give you that information without a reason. The Importance of Intent cannot be understated here. It’s literally defining the entire nature of this genr--conversation. Sorry.. _ conversation.  _ Freudian Slip for a second there.”

Harry nodded in understanding before letting out a sigh. “Look, he’s never going to give us a straight answer for why he’s obsessed. And time’s-a-ticking.”

Swiftie Stan frowned in sympathy before bringing Brazilian Beta in for a warm hug “I’ll give you a hint, okay?” he said. “Mine is the same day as a historical WWII date--not year, obviously.”

“June 6,” Harry said immediately.

“Wtf?” said zapt dos in surprise. 

Everyone in the near vicinity turned to look at him, including the people walking on the street.

“What do you mean ‘wtf’?!?!?!?!?” they all said in unison. “That’s D-Day!”

“Only the most famous WWII date there is,” Harry said.

“I was gonna guess Pearl Harbor lol,” zapt dos said, holding up his hands in defense.

Brazilian Beta left Swiftie’s arms and turned to look at Harry. “I finally know Swiftie Stan’s birthday,” he said with a pleased smile. “Now, tell me yours, please, please, please, please, pleeeeasssseeeee!”

Harry looked at zapt dos and Swiftie Stan before shrugging. “Fine, I’ll give you a hint as well,” he said, steepling his hands in front of him. “Mine is _ also _ the same day as a famous historical WWII date.”

“Pearl Harbor!” zapt dos said.

“No.”

“VE Day,” Swiftie Stan guessed.

“Nope.”

“Battle of Iwo Jima, Bombing of Hiroshima & Nagasaki, Battle of Midway, Guadalcanal,” Brazilian Beta listed off in rapid succession. 

Harry shook his head. “You’re in the wrong theater,” he said. “European, not Pacific.”

“Dunkirk?” Swiftie Stan said.

“No.”

“Battle of Britain?” zapt dos asked.

“Nope.”

“Operation Market Garden or The  Battle of Hürtgen Forest ?” Brazilian Beta said, frowning.

“Nope.”

“Are you sure it’s a  _ famous _ historical WWII date in the European Theater?” 

“Yes,” Harry said in a flat tone. “It’s also the day that FDR sent out the Great White Fleet, the day the Great North Holland Canal opened, and even the date of Boston’s most famous Tea Party.” 

“Ah,” Swiftie Stan said, before he pulled out a Kindle and buried his nose in it. 

“Ah?” zapt dos asked, staring at Swiftie who was too engrossed in whatever he was reading to hear.

“Just ignore him,” Brazilian Beta said, “he’s reading up on his Swiftie update of the day.”

Swiftie nodded. “I’ve read the updates on her tumblr, Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook,” he said. “But I also have the notifications for her TikTok, LiveJournal, MySpace, and GeoCities.”

Everyone nodded in understanding. 

“Anyway,” Brazilian Beta said, as Swiftie Stan set his Kindle down and positioned himself in between the tables. “I’m out of guesses.”

zapt dos leaned back as Swiftie Stan bent forward and began moving side to side, his legs static and stretched wide. “What about, er…” he said, leaning back even further to avoid getting hit. “There’s one I’ve heard of. Probably isn’t the one you’re referring to, though.”

Harry perked up in interest. “No, no,” he said. “Let’s hear it.”

“Er...is it...The Battle of the Bulge?”

Brazilian Beta snorted. “Heh... _ Bulge _ ...must’ve been some battle,” he said, chuckling lewdly.

“WTF Brazilian Beta!” everyone said at once, pulling out their Lewd Signs and holding them up, including Swiftie Stan who was in the middle of an active groin stretch. 

“What?” he said, innocently. “Not like I was the only one thinking it!”

Harry shook his head with a disappointed sigh. “Well, believe it or not, zapt dos is correct.”

Several gasps sounded throughout the patio. Swiftie Stan stumbled from his position, letting out a small cry of pain. 

“Wait, so...according to my quick Google search,” zapt dos said, holding up his Blackberry Playbook, “The Battle of the Bulge took place on December 16th.”

Everyone snapped their heads in Harry’s direction. 

“But...but...but…” Brazilian Beta said, pointing a shaking finger towards Harry, face awash in betrayal. 

Harry nodded solemnly. 

“But that was  _ yesterday _ !” Brazilian Beta said. 

Swiftie Stan stood up and wiped a small towel on his forehead. “Wow. Taylor is so musically flexible. I never knew how important it was for her to get physically flexible as well. But that’s the Queen, for you. Thank goodness I follow her daily blog updates. That active groin stretch was something I didn’t even know I was missing!”

Everyone stared at him for a moment before Harry raised his glass of orange ambrosial transcendence. “Here’s to active groin stretches.”

“Here’s to figuring out everyone’s birthdays,” Brazilian Beta said in exasperation, holding his glass of orange toothsome succulent luscious nectarous nectar.

“Cheers, we’ll drink to that!” Harry, Swiftie Stan, and zapt dos said, clinking their glasses together.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A/N: 

Firstly, you’ll probably notice Harry’s birthday in this chapter does not align with canon. We, at SalTal Studios, reserve the right to keep this change or go back to his canon b-day moving forward. Blame Nauze for this.

Secondly, we’d like to thank Petrificus Somewhatus for reminding us of the Importance of Active Groin Stretches as well as Intent.

Thirdly, we’d like to blame Nauze for always needing to know everyone’s birthdays for no reason whatsoever. Your knowledge of the famous WWII events is lacking. Wake up, do better, be better.

Fourthly, we’d like to thank Taylor Swift for inspiring Swiftie Stan and being so musically flexible that everyone can find a song they love and share them on their collaborative Spotify playlists. 

As Always, 

Stay Classy, Euclanites!


	7. Theme Week

Harry took a deep breath in, glanced down at his watch, and then let out a discontented sigh.

8:59 am. 

One minute until Hermione’s charm would go off. 

He’d been cutting it really close lately but after weeks of straight-laced behaviour, he’d decided enough was enough. Hermione could try and change him however much she wanted but he wasn’t going to budge. 

As soon as he apparated into his office, Harry held out his hand for his coffee only to be met with an empty room. “Huh…” he said, peeking around the door. How odd.

With a frown, he walked into the corridor and stepped out into the waiting room to find no one at the clerk’s desk. The front doors were still locked, judging by the appearance of a man pressing his nose against the glass and waving for Harry’s attention. 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and turned on his heel, determined to solve this little mystery. 

He opened each exam room door, the storage room, the file room, and the bathroom before finally reaching the kitchen. 

“Ah...Tracey,” he said with a pleased smile. “I was looking for you.”

She was in the process of smacking the old coffee maker hard with her hand, smoke billowing from it with a menacing hiss. 

“Still not working, then?” Harry said, leaning against the cabinets with his arms crossed. 

She let out an impatient huff. “It works alright but only just,” she said, pouring out a cup and handing it to him before doing the same for herself. “Keeps making that wretched noise and letting out smoke.”

Harry hummed in thought as he took a sip. “Tastes a bit burnt, no?” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s either this or the rubbish they sell at that cafe across the road.”

Making a face of disgust, he set his cup down. “It’s not just the coffee that’s bad there. The service is a right _nightmare_ , as well,” he said, shaking his head. “Crinkly Eyes nearly spilt a cup on me the other day when a child ran into her.” 

Tracey snorted. “She’s the annoyingly happy one? With the smiley face and brown hair?”

“That’s her, yeah,” Harry said with a nod. 

Turning back to the coffee maker, Tracey let out a small groan. “I just wish Hermione could remove the stick up her arse and let us buy a new one already.”

“Christmas already passed,” Harry said, taking another sip and wincing. “Shall we write it on our birthday lists again this year?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Hermione couldn’t even give me the week off for my birthday, you think she’s going to get us the Breville Brushed Stainless Steel Oracle Touch Espresso Machine?” she said, shaking her head. “We’re stuck here in the trenches while she lives it up in Climax, Saskatchewan, for her little healthcare management conference.”

“Deplorable,” Harry agreed. 

“I mean...why even keep the clinic open?” Tracey said, setting her cup down with more force than necessary, causing the contents to spill over the edge. “I say we lock it up. No seeing patients for the entire week. We bloody deserve a break!”

Harry considered the proposition for all of two seconds before voicing his opinion. “Let’s do it for the morning. If we don’t open, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Tracey threw her head back and groaned but walked over to open the front doors. “If we’re not staying closed, may as well just get on with it.” 

x-x-x

Harry finished chewing the final bite of his food, shoving his plate forward before he slumped backward into his chair. 

He was tired. Today hadn’t been especially miserable, filled only with the usual annoyances of the PIMMPLE. And yet, he’d felt himself deteriorate as the day dragged on.

Tracey had been just as bad as him, if not worse. She’d taken no joy in needlessly needling the patients like she might usually have done. Instead, she’d been ruthlessly efficient with them, while being short and grumpy with Harry. 

He couldn’t exactly blame her. Her vacation plans had been cancelled the night before due to Hermione’s last-minute Climax Conference. But Harry had no similar excuse. Sure, he could assign some of his bad mood to Tracey being a miserable sod but it wasn’t enough to shoulder it entirely. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to explain why he’d skipped dinner at The Burrow tonight.

There was no doubt he’d hear about _that._

As if on cue, Harry heard a pop signalling Kreacher’s arrival. He took Harry’s half-eaten plate and turned his beady eyes on him, his ears drooping as he shook his head. “Mistress be so disappointed in poor old Kreacher. Letting Young Master be here all alone, day after day,” the old elf said, ambling back out of the room.

“What’s that, Kreacher?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. 

The elf turned back to Harry and gave him a low bow. “Kreacher said nothing.”

“Nothing, my left arse cheek,” Harry muttered. 

Though the batty old elf had improved some, he would never be the same again after the passing of his Mistress.

With a sigh, Harry waved him off and leant back in his desk chair. Kreacher gave a second mocking bow at that, mumbling something too quiet to hear.

This time of year had been difficult for a while now. The cold dreariness of the winter month that followed an outpouring of overwhelming and unnecessary comfort around the holiday season. The stark contrast was enough to drain him entirely. 

Why couldn’t everyone just leave him to wallow in peace?

Visiting the Burrow or the Delacours right now just felt so...wrong. Those places were overflowing in energy, vibrancy,, and joy. It was the last place he wanted to be at the moment. 

Harry sighed and stood up, stretching his arms high and wiggling out his legs. He made his way over to the bookshelf and poured himself a stiff drink of firewhiskey, gulping it down and letting out an ‘ahh’ of satisfaction.

He poured himself another.

Alcohol wasn’t an answer to his woes but it wouldn’t exactly hurt either. 

Capping the bottle, Harry returned to his desk for some light reading. But as he sat back down, he spotted something in his periphery that he wished he hadn’t. Not today anyway. Not in the mood he was in.

The mitten.

As if drawn by a magnetic pull, Harry’s free hand reached forward and slipped the mitten on. Fittingly, it was the only one he could find. The other member of the pair lost somewhere, missing its mate. 

Harry shook his head and let out a shuddering breath before tipping his glass back again. 

He’d lost his Soul Bonded. He’d grieved. He’d moved on. And yet the wound kept reopening as if he’d busted the stitches holding it closed, again and again and again. 

Just as Harry went to refill his drink again, a voice came through the closed door. 

“Harry?”

Dread filled his stomach. She was going to come in here and see him working on his third drink. No doubt Kreacher had already ratted him out, the blighter.

He heard a soft knock before the door creaked open. “Harry, Kreacher said I’d find you here.”

As Fleur walked in, Harry greeted her with a strained smile.

She looked him up, down, and then caught sight of the mitten he hadn’t realized he was still wearing.

“Oh, Harry...” Fleur said, her voice as heavy as the weight in his heart. 

Harry swallowed, hard. “Sorry for missing dinner...it’s just-”

Fleur closed the distance between them and placed a hand on his arm. “Shh, you don’t need to say anything,” she said. As soon as he put his drink down, she wrapped him up in a hug, rubbing his back soothingly.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, not letting him go. “I miss her too.”

Tears filled unbidden in his eyes and he blinked furiously to keep them at bay. He held tightly onto Fleur, feeling her sobs wrack through her body. 

How long they stood there he didn’t know. All he could process was the torrent of emotions that came flooding out of him, ones he hadn’t known he’d been holding back. Set off by nothing more than a shit day at work, a mitten, and a hug. 

It made no sense. He hated that it made no sense. 

Eventually they broke apart, Fleur taking the mitten off Harry’s hand, her thumb tracing the stitched ‘Gabr’. “It’s okay to miss her, you know,” she said, her voice quiet. “I’m here for you. Anytime you need me.”

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice just yet.

“You don’t need to drink alone,” she said, the scolding he’d been worried about finally coming. “You have people who care for you, love you.”

He cleared his throat. “It just hit me hard today,” he said, shifting his eyes away from her. “Dunno why.”

“Winter’s always hard,” Fleur said, placing her hand in his and squeezing it.

Harry stared down at their joined hands for a moment before taking the mitten and placing it back on the bookshelf. His eyes searched for the other one but they couldn't find purchase.

“If you want, I can speak to Bill,” she said, coming over, stepping around him, and then lifting up a fallen book. She plucked the other smushed mitten from its hiding place and set it next to its pair. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind having you round for dinner more. And you know Victoire loves seeing her favourite uncle as often as she can.”

Harry turned back to his drink and vanished the contents. “No...no, that’s okay,” he said, forcing a smile. “I’d rather not see Bill stuff his face unless I absolutely have to. He makes Ron look civilized with those table manners of his.”

Fleur chuckled politely and took a seat on the sofa, inviting him to join her. “I don’t know if the holidays will ever be the same, to be honest,” she said with a wistful look. “But it helps...being around family and friends.”

He joined her and dropped his head back onto the couch. “Yeah,” he said, running his hand through his messy hair. “Nothing can really compare to those Delacour traditions.”

With a warm look, she patted him on the knee. “You can still enjoy them without her, you know. You had so much fun that first time.”

Harry shook his head. “I really don’t think I can,” he said, staring down at his hands. “And well...I made Maman promise to take this secret to the grave, but...”

“Secret?”

He smiled at Fleur, amused to see worry written all over her face. “Gabby was so excited the day I came home with her for Yule. I was worried I would wreck it somehow,” he said, his own words feeling like a balm to his soul. “I floo’d Apolline and the two of us went out for brunch.”

Fleur narrowed her eyes at him. “Maman never mentioned that,” she said.

Harry nodded slowly, lost in the memory. “I talked with her about Gabby and how nervous I was,” he said, a fond smile on his face. “So she told me about every one of your traditions. Talked me through them, gave me some tips, and took me to buy the apron that I’ve worn every year since.”

At this, Fleur’s eyes widened. “But...but you were so…”

“Excited, insatiable, and desperately wanting more?” Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well...yeah,” she said, words finally leaving her open mouth.

Harry let out a long breath. “We may have been Soul Bonded but our love still formed naturally,” he said with a shrug. “I was always looking for ways to make her happy. Gabby had built up the idea of Christmas at the Delacours so much that I wanted to make sure she had the time of her life while I was there.”

“So...did you even enjoy the traditions?” she said with a small frown. 

“I enjoyed making my wife happy,” he said, swallowing hard. “And now…well, that element is missing.”

Fleur was about to respond when Harry put up his hand. “I still meet with Maman regularly,” he said. “We talk, and I do enjoy our time together. She makes sure of it.”

With a nod, Fleur looked around the room. “What’s all this, then?” she said, gesturing to the bottle of Firewhiskey.

Harry tried to hold back a grimace. “A nice relaxing drink after dinner.”

She huffed out a breath. “That’s not what Kreacher said when I asked him,” she said, sounding thoroughly disappointed.

With a sigh, Harry looked down at his lap. “Today was a rough one,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “More than usual.”

“And if I ask Kreacher how many bottles he’s replaced for you recently...?”

Harry shrunk in on himself. “Then you wouldn’t be thrilled,” he said, not bothering to lie. She’d call his bluff at once. And Kreacher wouldn’t dare to lie to his Mistress’ sister.

The look on her face was unreadable but before he could ask what she was thinking, he felt her finger poke into his gut. 

“Ouch!” he said, rubbing the spot.

“You need to drink less and exercise more,” she said, unrepentant. “You’re developing a gut.”

Harry rolled his eyes. His pants might be a little tighter round the waist, but he did _not_ have a gut. “It’s barely even half a stone.”

Fleur stood and went over to his minibar. Her wand snapped into her hand, and without so much as a by-your-leave, she vanished all the liquor. “Uppers in the morning and downers at night,” she said, admonishing him, her hands coming to rest on her hips. “You’re going with no caffeine and no alcohol for a week or I’ll be letting Maman in on this little habit of yours.”

Taking a deep breath, Harry rubbed his temples and let out a sigh. “You don’t play fair.”

She lifted her chin and sniffed. “You don’t take care of yourself.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Fleur relaxed her shoulders and grabbed hold of his hand, her eyes softening. “Just promise me, Harry,” she said, with a firm look. “No caffeine and no alcohol until the next Weasley dinner this Thursday night which You. Will. Be. At.”

He put up his hands in surrender. “I promise,” he said, a playful grin on his lips. “I’ll pinky swear and everything.”

She held his gaze until he nodded. “Here, I’ll give you this. It’s a good luck charm that I’ve brought on every curse-breaking expedition of mine,” she said, digging a toy knight out of her pocket and placing it in his hands. “Whenever I felt like I hit a dead end, it was always surprisingly helpful to me.”

Taking the offered toy, Harry turned it over, getting a good look at it.  
  
“If you're having trouble keeping to your detox,” Fleur said, drawing his attention away from the knight. “Just pull him out and remind yourself of your promise to me.”

Harry chuckled. “Well, okay,” he said, closing his fist around it. “I’ll make sure to keep it with me then.”

x-x-x

Harry arrived in his office at exactly 9:00 on the dot the next morning. Carefully taking off his mittens, he placed them neatly at the corner of his desk for optimum visibility. Without glancing up, he turned, making sure to keep his hand in so Tracey couldn’t place a mug of coffee in it.

But for the second day in a row, his office was empty. No cup of coffee and no Tracey in sight. He blinked, wondering what was going on.

He was later than usual but Tracey hadn’t bothered to seek him out. He’d even had a whole spiel ready about how he was going to detox this week, preparing a number of points to defend himself from her inevitable biting sarcasm.

But there was no need for it, it seemed.

How odd.

Harry walked to the door of his office, swung it open and peeked out, first right and then left. The hallway was clear and he couldn’t hear footsteps nor smell Tracey’s normal lingering fragrance. It was always stronger in the morning.

He frowned and ambled toward the kitchen where she must surely be making coffee. His lips thinned when he came to the doorway, finding an empty kitchen.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he made his way toward the one area he _always_ made sure to avoid--the waiting room. 

But desperate times called for desperate measures. With no coffee and no patient files, he’d have to track down his errant assistant to get this day going. He’d normally be more upset, but he was buoyed by the knowledge that he’d arrived on-time **⊂** later by Hermione standards **⊃** , and they were quickly wasting the day away. 

What a glorious start to the morning.

On a normal day, he could’ve already discharged a patient by now.

As his feet carried him into the reception area, he blinked in surprise. There wasn’t a _single_ patient waiting in the office, and Tracey had her chin on the desk, both hands cradling her coffee, no awareness of her surroundings whatsoever.

Harry stepped forward, more prominently entering her field of vision but she still didn’t stir.

“Er...Tracey?” he said, unsure of how to proceed here.

“Did you know that, right now, I should be drunk off my gourd, feeling up a stranger with inhibitions as low as mine?” Tracey said, her eyes entirely focused on the coffee cup that was almost up against her nose.

“Er...no?” he said. 

Harry moved closer to the desk and placed his hands on it but Tracey only let out a depressed sigh. 

“I was supposed to spend the entire week in the sun in nothing more than my birthday suit, getting plowed by random strangers,” she said before taking a sip of her coffee. “But nooooo… Granger-Gibbons needs to be at her Climax conference.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Don’t you have a significant other?”

Tracey shot him a dispirited scowl as she gripped her cup firmly. “No,” she said, biting out the word, “but I was going to go find someone I fancied and take them to bed, night after night after night after night after night. Or multiple someones.” Her shoulders slumped, and she took another large gulp of coffee.

Nodding in understanding, Harry glanced back at the empty waiting room. “Did you not open for patients this morning?” 

It was a bit concerning that she hadn’t done her job. She might purposely upset Hermione or the patients but she was always punctual and exceptionally efficient at her job.

This was beyond bizarre. 

Just when he was going to ask her about getting the day started, Harry flinched, noticing a piece of magic he’d long ago learned to cower at. It was even worse than a Mrs Weasley Hogwarts Howler. It was a Lecture-Mode-Howler™

_TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:_

_I HAVE RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE THAT THE_ _POTTER INSTITUTE FOR MAGICAL AND MUNDANE PATHOLOGIES, LURGIES AND ENDOCRINOLOGY CLINIC, OTHERWISE KNOWN AS THE_ **_P-I-M-M-P-L-E_ ** _, HAS NOT UNLOCKED ITS DOORS AT THE DESIGNATED TIME OF NINE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING, TODAY, THE 15TH OF JANUARY. I HAVE BEEN CONSIDERATE ENOUGH TO ALLOW UP TO TEN MINUTES OF TARDINESS. BUT CLEARLY, THERE IS NO INTENTION OF OPENING CLINIC DOORS TO THE PUBLIC AT THIS POINT._

_THE SEVERITY OF THIS BREACH HAS RESULTED IN THE ACTIVATION OF STEP ONE OF THE_ **_P-I-M-M-P-L-E’S_ ** _PRECAUTIONARY OFFICE PROTECTIONS PROTOCOL INITIATION--NOW GUARANTEED (_ **_P-O-P-P-I-N-G_ ** _) IN WHICH_ **_P-I-M-M-P-L-E_ ** _EMPLOYEES LOSE THEIR PRIVILEGES TO CERTAIN CLINIC AMENITIES FOR A FULL TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AS PUNISHMENT._

_LET THIS SERVE AS A REMINDER THAT PUNCTUALITY--NOT THE INTENT OF--IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE._

_PLEASE NOTE BOTH INTENT AND IMPORTANCE HAVE A LOWERCASE ‘I’._

_YOURS SINCERELY,_

_HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER-GIBBONS_

Harry pulled his fingers out of his ears, twisting his right pinky as he did so. It wasn’t so much the unbearable volume but the grating tone Hermione used. It always reminded him of when she’d chastise him and Ron for failing to do their potions essays.

“Well,” Harry said, looking back at Tracey, “guess it’s time to open. I’ll head to my office, just bring back the patient files when everything is all set.”

Tracey stood up with a scowl. “I’m going to make us another coffee before we have to deal with all them,” she said, gesturing toward the line of patients forming outside the clinic doors. “I don’t care _what_ I-Must-Get-To-Climax says.”

Harry knew the Lecture-Mode-Howler™ had angered her more than anything else and hoped that at least another coffee might soothe her.

She stomped away from her desk and down the hall. But Harry only shrugged and walked to his office, hearing Tracey’s progress toward the kitchen the entire way. It wasn’t until he sat down that he realized Tracey had said she was going to make him a cup too. 

He’d never even gotten the chance to tell her about his detox.

Letting out a long sigh, he slouched back in his seat, thinking over the events that had transpired thus far. It was just like Hermione to treat them like infants while she was off having fun at her La Petite Mort Conference. Honestly, threatening them with their amenities? What _amenities_ did they have at the PIMMPLE exactly? 

He scoffed as he let his eyes rove over the files on his desk. He had half a mind to keep the doors locked all day to give himself a bloody well-deserved break. 

The sight of the mittens still situated at the corner of his desk interrupted Harry’s brooding thoughts, and he picked them up, his mood instantly improving. He let his fingers run over the tight stitching of the heart surrounding Gabby’s name, feeling a burst of nostalgia that made him wish he could transport himself through time and space to Christmas at the Delacours. What he wouldn’t give for a few of those mad traditions now. 

Before Harry could get too lost down memory lane, however, a sudden scream rang out throughout the halls of the clinic. 

He shot his head up and grabbed his wand in his other hand before racing towards the sound. 

“Tracey?” he said coming to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

She whipped around, an angry scowl etched onto her face. “Look,” she said through a snarl. _“Look what she’s done!”_

Harry turned his gaze to where she was pointing and raised his eyebrows in surprise. The ancient coffee maker that had been both the bane and source of their existence for years was now surrounded by a metal cage that Harry could guess was impenetrable. 

“How could she do this?” Tracey said, slamming her cup on the counter. “Who does she think she is, Harry? She’s not the bloody boss of me!”

“Well…” he couldn’t help but respond, causing Tracey to glare at him. 

“Finish that sentence and you’re dead, Potter,” she said, pointing a finger at him. 

Harry put his hands up in defence, surprised to discover that he was still holding one of the mittens. An unbidden smile formed on his face as a sudden idea hit him. 

“What are you bloody smiling at?” Tracey said, opening various cabinets.

To what end, Harry wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think it wise to question her. What Tracey really needed was a way to lift her mood, her own personal Gabby-mitten. 

“Hermione is forcing us to open the clinic, yeah?” Harry said, looking back up at her. “But there weren’t any stipulations on _how_ we had to run it while she was gone.”

“What do you mean?” Tracey said slowly. 

“Remember how _she_ wanted to have that god-awful Christmas Week last year?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows. “With the different themes every day?”

Tracey crossed her arms and gave a curt nod.

“What if we did that ourselves? The first official PIMPPLE Traditions Week,” he said, giving her an encouraging grin.

Tracey shook her head. “I am _not_ wearing ridiculous outfits all week,” she said through clenched teeth. “Make your patients do it.”

Harry’s face lit up as he stepped forward. “Ah, but don’t you see,” he said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “That’s the beauty of it. If we _both_ dress up, then we can require the patients to do so, as well. We’ll tell them we can’t see them, otherwise.” **⋃** They’d do it better than Hermione ever could **⋂.**

She let her arms fall to her sides and swiped his hand off her. “Fine,” she said, not sounding pleased. “You have to do all the work though.”

He gave her a winning smile. “Of course,” he said as if it was patently obvious.

“And you won’t care if I refuse to let any patients see you all day?” she said, her voice filled with scepticism.

Tilting his head to the side, he gave a lazy shrug. “If we don’t see any patients, I’ll just tell Double-G I was busy with research,” he said, already hearing her click her tongue in annoyance like she did every time he mentioned the ‘R-word’.

Tracey huffed out an annoyed breath and fixed him with a hard stare. “And if H-to-the-Double-G tries to punish me for this, you’ll be the one to step in?” she said, prodding him with her finger.

Harry nodded enthusiastically. “As long as you wear what I give you this week without complaint,” he said, levelling a firm look at her.

She pinched her lips together as though considering. “Fine. But I’m not wearing a lion costume, nor any red and gold,” she said finally, glowering at him as she picked up her empty coffee mug.

x-x-x

Tracey squirmed uncomfortably in her peach Sgt. Peppers uniform and lime-green feathered colonial tricorn hat, wishing Harry had picked something a bit less gaudy and stiff for the first day of their PIMMPLE traditions week. But he’d been set on the Beatles. And for good reason too. 

It was no secret around the office that Hermione had an unhealthy obsession with the Beatles if her spreadsheet ranking their entire discography was anything to go by. Not to mention the fact that she owned every single one of Paul McCartney’s solo albums. 

On more than one occasion, she’d attempted to push her agenda for a Beatles-only playlist in the waiting room but Harry and Tracey had adamantly put their feet down. 

Today, however, Hermione wasn’t here. 

Today, they were going to go all out and celebrate the Beatles. Doing everything Hermione had always wanted but was too engrossed in Climax to partake in.

Tracey shifted once again, trying to get comfortable as she kicked up her legs on the desk, her orange and yellow shoes clashing horribly with her outfit. “Hello, Goodbye” played over the clinic speakers that Harry had enchanted to run through Hermione’s spreadsheet of songs in the ranking she’d listed them. 

The waiting room itself was decorated in Beatles paraphernalia. Harry had truly outdone himself. The entire floor was charmed to look like a zebra crossing akin to the cover of Abbey Road. In the corner of the room was a large inflatable pool where various toy yellow submarines and menacing Blue Meanies floated upon the water. Black mop-top wigs hung on each hook of the coat rack by the entrance. Multicoloured guitars and a drum set with the iconic Beatles logo stood in place of the large couch that was usually situated there. Hanging on the walls were banners of each of the thirteen studio albums. And taking up multiple chairs in the waiting area was a life-size stuffed walrus.

And all the while, music continued to play in the background.

Tracey grinned to herself as Harry took several photographs to place on Hermione’s desk for when she got back from her Reach-Your-Peak Conference before resuming his spot. He was dressed in John Lennon’s Sgt. Pepper's outfit and standing very still against the wall as though he were a mannequin. To what end, she wasn’t sure yet. But she was confident it would serve as wonderful entertainment. 

x-x-x

“Fill that out,” Tracey said, as the first patient came through the door, hopping on one leg with one hand holding the back of his ankle.

“I need to see a--”

“No paperwork, no healer,” she said, pushing the clipboard into his chest.

Afro-Achilles hopped over to the chair and began filling it out in earnest.

Harry waited patiently for the man to settle in before casting a spell to move the chairs on either side of him toward his by half an inch.

The man looked up, his eyes darting right and left before he shook it off and went back to his paperwork.

As he did so, another patient walked in and made his way up to the desk. He had on Beyerdynamic DT 770 PRO: Closed Studio Headphones, and he pulled them off his ears as he began to speak. “Hello,” he said in a deep, rich germanic accented voice.

Tracey stilled, her mouth slightly agape, clearly as shaken by the man’s resonant tone as Harry was. “F-fill that out,” she said, not daring to look up from behind her pink tricorn as she floated the clipboard into his chest. 

Headphones-Hans took the offending item before pushing his headphones back into place. He went and sat two chairs away from Afro-Achilles.

Harry smiled. This was perfect. 

He discreetly held out his wand and concentrated on making the chair between them bump into Afro-Achilles’ just as Headphones-Hans shifted in his seat.

With a frown, Afro-Achilles used his foot to push it back. But Harry hit it with another spell that caused the chair to rocket off his foot and hit Headphones-Hans’ with force. 

The man clenched his jaw in response. “Hey, get’s noch?!”

Harry snickered. Acting the part of the John-mannequin was brilliant. He watched as Headphone-Hans finished the paperwork first and walked over to Tracey’s desk. 

“I’ve filled out all ten pages,” he said in his velvety rich voice. “Can I see the doctor now?”

Tracey looked him up and down before giving him a look of faux-sympathy. “Unfortunately, Healer Potter cannot see you,” she said. “In accordance with the PIMMPLE Theme Week, all patients must be wearing the appropriately themed attire of the day in order to be seen.”

The man pursed his lips into a thin line. “And what is the theme today?” he said. 

She smiled brightly and gestured to the room at large. “The Beatles! Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!”

x-x-x

“Alright, I’ve done what you asked.”

Harry grinned to himself as he watched Headphone-Hans stomp into the clinic wearing an early Beatles-era style outfit. A black, collarless tailored suit, a thin black tie, and a black mop-top wig.

Tracey took one look at him before shaking her head. 

“You said Beatles was the theme!” Headphone-Hans said, his wig falling into his eyes.

“Yeah...the _psychedelic_ era,” she said, gesturing towards her outfit. “Not Beatlemania. Do I honestly need to spell it out for you?”   
  


Headphone-Hans gritted his teeth. “I just want to be seen by a healer, is that too much to ask?”

Tracey gave him a kind look that Harry knew was anything but. “Not at all,” she said, with a smile. “Here, you can go ahead and fill this out…”

“Thank you,” Headphone-Hans said, reaching for the clipboard. 

But at the last second, Tracey snatched it away. “As soon as you come back wearing the correctly themed Beatles outfit.”

x-x-x

Harry watched as Headphones-Hans came in for the third time that day. If there was anything better than not treating patients, it was watching them go from confoundingly confused to frantically frustrated before becoming aggrievedly angry.

There was no way Tracey wasn’t enjoying torturing these poor souls.

While it did make him feel slightly guilty, he knew it was all for a good cause. And besides, he wanted to make sure that Hermione would think twice next time before sending them a Lecture-Mode-Howler™. He would have thought she’d learnt her lesson the first time with the Lubriciously-Lively-Lilting-Laughing-Lion-Lecture-Mode-Howler™ incident that caused Gabby to...

Harry shook his head before finishing the thought. 

Best not think about that. He was changing, becoming better, doing his detox and trying to get rid of the bit of pudge he’d packed on. He’d promised Fleur, after all.

“Let me see a healer, now,” Headphones-Hans demanded, trying and failing to control the growl in his voice. 

If Harry hadn’t already cast a diagnostic charm, he might have been concerned about the bloke’s adamance to see him. But while his ailment was annoying and incessantly itchy, it was ultimately rather minor. Nothing that wouldn’t sort itself out given enough time.

As Tracey took in the man’s attire, her frown deepened. 

It was remarkably good, Harry had to admit. Almost as if he’d gone to a shop that specialized in costumes. 

How sensible. Futile, but sensible.

Tracey marched up to him, her keen eyes scanning up then down before a triumphantly malicious glint appeared in her eyes. “Black socks and blue shoes?” she said, pointing down at his feet.

Headphones-Hans lifted the bottom of his pants and peered down. “Matching shoes,” he said, shrugging.

With a click of her tongue, Tracey shook her head. “John wore _brown_ socks,” she said, deliberately drawing out her words.

Headphones-Hans’ knuckles whitened as he crushed the forms he’d filled out for the third time that day. “You’re not going to let me see a healer because my socks are the wrong _colour_?”

Tracey’s face lit up as she smiled. “No, I’m not going to let you see a healer because your socks _and_ shoes are the wrong colour,” she said before pointing at Harry’s shoes in comparison. “John had _pink_ shoes, not blue.”

_“Wollt ihr mich verarschen?!"_ Headphone-Hans cried, pulling out his Beyerdynamic DT 770 PRO: Closed Studio Headphones from under his costume and placing them on his head before he stormed out of the clinic in a fury.

x-x-x

If there was one downside to not seeing patients--not that Harry would admit to there being any--it was just how long the day dragged on. Sitting in the reception area with nothing to do but check on his magical monitoring devices became rather dull after a while.

But there was still two minutes left in the workday, and he wouldn’t put it past Hermione to have a charm to inform her if they closed early.

Harry turned back to his monitors and continued comparing them to scans he’d done previously.

It was tedious but essential work. If his equipment wasn’t functioning properly, he couldn’t diagnose patients with precision.

_Click._

Harry’s head shot up. He knew that noise. 

Looking down at his watch, he noted the time and frowned. They still had one minute and thirty-two seconds to go.

He shrugged and packed up, preparing to leave. He wasn’t drinking coffee this week, so only Tracey would suffer if they were punished for this.

As he made his way out of the reception area, he heard a pounding on the door, the sight of pink shoes and brown socks visible through the glass from where Harry was standing. He paused and turned to Tracey, raising an eyebrow.

She shot him a sickly sweet smile. “A perfect day, no patients.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Harry apparated into the clinic at 9:05 the next morning, having forgone any and all desire for punctuality. What was the point when Hermione had already carried out her punishments? And unlike yesterday, he wasn’t surprised to find his office or the waiting room empty. 

Tracey had once again refused to open the clinic doors on time. 

He made his way towards the kitchen to find Tracey even though he knew the coffee maker was still out of use, as per Hermione’s punishment. There was no doubt that Tracey’s mood had only worsened as a result, so he was looking forward to sharing today’s theme with her. 

Messing with patients was always a sure-fire way to make her happy. 

As soon Harry walked into the kitchen, however, he stopped short in the doorway. “Oh,” he said with a frown. “This is a surprise.”

Tracey looked up at him from her cup of coffee and grinned. 

“How’d you manage that?” Harry said, gesturing towards it as he walked in. 

“Our little Climax Seeker isn’t as clever as she thinks she is,” Tracey said, taking her last sip before placing the cup in the sink. “Her Howler said we’d lose privileges to ‘clinic amenities’ for 24 hours. What she didn’t realize was...that meant _business_ hours. I came in early and gave it a go, and it worked!”

Harry gave her a thoughtful look, taking a moment to consider whether Hermione really did make an error or not. Perhaps there was more going on here than either of them realized. 

Almost as soon as the thought popped into his head, he spotted a dreaded envelope in the corner of his eye.

Lecture-Mode-Howler™ 

Harry sighed and braced himself for the worst. 

_TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:_

_I HAVE RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE THAT THE_ _POTTER INSTITUTE FOR MAGICAL AND MUNDANE PATHOLOGIES, LURGIES AND ENDOCRINOLOGY CLINIC, OTHERWISE KNOWN AS THE_ **_P-I-M-M-P-L-E_ ** _LOCKED ITS DOORS YESTERDAY, THE 15TH OF JANUARY EXACTLY TWO MINUTES EARLIER THAN THE DESIGNATED CLOSING TIME OF 2:30 PM._

_THE SEVERITY OF THIS BREACH HAS RESULTED IN THE ACTIVATION OF STEP TWO OF THE_ **_P-I-M-M-P-L-E’S_ ** _PRECAUTIONARY OFFICE PROTECTIONS PROTOCOL INITIATION--NOW GUARANTEED (_ **_P-O-P-P-I-N-G_ ** _) IN WHICH_ **_P-I-M-M-P-L-E_ ** _EMPLOYEES ARE PUNISHED WITH A_ _PREARRANGED ULTIMATUM SYSTEM (_ **_P-U-S_ ** _). YOU HAVE HEREBY LOST YOUR PRIVILEGES TO THE BATHROOMS._

_IF YOU ARE GOING TO ACT LIKE UNCULTURED SWINE, THAT IS FINE BY ME. YOU CAN ROLL AROUND IN YOUR EXCREMENT FOR ALL I CARE. IF YOU CAN’T FOLLOW SIMPLE RULES WHILE I AM AWAY, HOW CAN I TRUST YOU TO USE THE TOILETS PROPERLY?_

_LET THIS SERVE AS A REMINDER THAT PUNCTUALITY--NOT THE INTENT OF--IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE. PIGS WILL LEARN TO FLY BEFORE I ALLOW THIS DEGENERACY TO CONTINUE._

_PLEASE NOTE BOTH INTENT AND IMPORTANCE HAVE A LOWERCASE ‘i’._

_YOURS SINCERELY,_

_HERMIONE GRANGER-GIBBONS._

One could have heard a pin drop in the silence that ensued after the Howler disintegrated before their eyes. 

Harry swallowed hard, chancing a glance at Tracey out of the corner of his eye.

The explosion came at once. 

“Can you _believe_ her?” she practically yelled, kicking one of the chairs aside in a fit of anger. “How can she do this? HOW?”

“Er…” Harry said, approaching her slowly as though she were a feral animal. 

“Vanishing our own excrement like we’re from the bloody 1400s?” she said, opening up the cabinets and emptying out their contents onto the floor. 

Sugar, cream, stirrers, coffee beans, tea bags, and filters all littered the floor as Tracey continued on her rampage. 

Harry tried several times to step in, pausing to duck his head as objects flew past him. When he was finally close enough to hold her arms down, she looked at him with a firm glare and tried to shake him off her. 

“Tracey,” he said, speaking gently. “I know this is frustrating but maybe you should try and relax.”

“I don’t _want_ to relax! I want to throw things in a fit of anger!” she said pushing him away. 

Harry stumbled back against the cabinets, eyes wide. “Er...look…” he said, fumbling around for his wand. “I have our theme week costumes. Let’s just focus on that, okay? Making the patients annoyed. Which--you know...will make H-to-the-izz-I O-to-the-izz-E annoyed.”

This seemed to calm Tracey’s mood a bit which caused Harry to breathe a sigh of relief. He hesitated before placing a hand on her back and patting it in comfort.

“Fine,” she mumbled, crossing her arms tightly. “What is it this time?”

Harry grinned before pulling the costumes out. With a snap of his wand, he was now wearing his.

Tracey raised her eyebrows as she gave him a slow once-over. “No way,” she said, shaking her head. “I am _not_ wearing that. It’s skin-tight, I can see everything! Look at you…Those things are _ginormous!”_

x-x-x

If there was one thing he’d done perfectly today, it was his costume. 

Starting with his custom-ordered skates, featuring Viking Sapphire Plus Long Track Blades with the All Black Luigino Tempo Carbon Fiber and Microfiber Lined Boots. It set the standard for his outfit and all others that would dare to attempt to see a doctor in the clinic today.

But what really set it off was the matching Adidas Men's Tiro 19 Training Pant in Power Red and Adidas Originals Firebird Full Zip Track Top. The all-time classic tracksuit was not only comfortable to wear, it was fabulously functional. The FDBB Stopwatch, with Timer Sports Training/Track and Field Sports Fitness/Multi-Function Game Chronograph in black and the Easy to Blow and Ultra Loud Silver Copper Whistle just turned the dial from ten to eleven.

But the absolute masterstroke was the aviators: The P8433 Porsche Design Sunglasses with A Gold Brown Frame.

It was…perfection personified. Unacceptably good. Rubber chicken/10.

As he stared out, watching the first patient of the day open the door, he knew it was game time. He popped two pieces of Sour Blue Raspberry Hubba Bubba Bubble Gum and grabbed his Silver Copper Whistle.

Harry knew what was about to happen and preemptively pushed off the boards, vacating his spot at the Garyt’s Wrecking Services advertisement. He glided towards the Craig’s Recording Services board but just when he’d gotten half-way through, he almost tripped and had to start all over again. Pushing off, he made his way to the perfect spot--the ad for Sharon’s Secretarial Services. He glanced down and frowned at the tag line, not having noticed it before.

_A real ladder climber_.

But before he could wonder what that meant, Headphones-Hans entered the clinic, his stupendous Sgt. Pepper pink shoes with brown socks leading the way. 

He stepped in and immediately cursed as he fell, slipping on the ice.

Harry locked eyes with Tracey before he shoved the whistle in his mouth. He took in a deep breath of air and huffed and puffed, eliciting a scrumptiously succulent FWEEEEEEET!

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING COMING IN HERE DRESSED LIKE THAT?!” Harry said, yelling over his ringing ears. “YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD JUST WALTZ IN HERE IN THAT CLOWN COSTUME? ON _MY_ ICE?”

Headphones-Hans tried to scramble back to his feet but the ice was fresh and too slick for him to regain his balance.

“I DON’T CARE HOW RICH AND DEEP YOUR BEAUTIFUL GERMAN-ACCENTED VOICE IS! YOU GET YOUR PRETTY LITTLE ARSE OUT OF HERE AND DON’T COME BACK UNTIL YOU’RE PROPERLY ATTIRED!” Harry said, sending the poor man reeling back towards the door.

“GO ON. GET!” he said, shooing him away. “AND BE QUICK ABOUT IT, I’M TIMING!” He held out his FDBB Stopwatch and clicked it.

x-x-x

Tracey stretched back in her seat, awkwardly crossing her long-bladed skates. While she hadn’t been a huge fan of the theme at first, she had to admit, the tracksuit was much more comfortable than the Sgt. Peppers outfit from yesterday. 

The sound of the clinic door opening caused her to smirk, satisfied in the knowledge that she was about to turn some naive idiot away. 

“Ay-up!” said a Northern England-accented voice. 

South Yorkshire, to be specific. 

Tracey glanced over at Harry who pushed off the boards where he’d been resting against the _zapt’s art exhibition_ ad and skated over to the patient, who immediately slipped on the ice as he entered. 

“Bloody ‘ell!” the man said, rubbing his bum with a wince. “Whuy es thuh fluhr meede uv arce?”

“ _What?”_ Tracey said, scrunching up her face. “Did you just ask why the floor was made of ice? In a very thick Yorkshire accent?”

Harry immediately blew his whistle, causing the man to jump in surprise and grab onto the _Libly’s Gently Gentle Adverbs_ ad to his left. “Theme week,” he said, gesturing for him to make his way towards the front desk. 

“Ayup, my name is Warden.”

With a sigh, Tracey levitated the clipboard over to him. “Fill that out,” she said in a flat voice, looking him up and down. 

“Wha' does 'e mean, it's Theme Week?” the man said, grabbing the clipboard. 

Tracey smiled thinly at him. “Never you mind,” she said. “Just fill that out first, and I’ll explain everything later.”

The man shrugged and held onto the boards for support as he walked carefully towards the waiting room chairs. 

After several minutes of filling out the paperwork, the man glided back towards the front desk. 

“All filled out, canna see ‘ealer Potter now?” the man said, glancing over at Harry who was currently in the midst holding a long and laborious two-legged squat against the boards, rhythmically breathing heavily.

Tracey gave him an apologetic look. “Oh...unfortunately, Healer Potter can’t see you today,” she said, giving him a quick once-over. “The PIMMPLE is hosting Theme Week, and today’s theme is speedskating. He won’t be seeing anyone who isn’t in the appropriate thematic attire.”

The man was too busy staring at Harry in awe as he transitioned into one-legged side-to-side-squats. “Blimey...he’s lowkey a bit of a king for that,” he said, nodding towards Harry before turning back to Tracey. “So...ah can't be seen then?”

“No,” Tracey said. “Come back in a speedskating tracksuit first.”

He gave a small frown. “Don’ ‘ave one,” he said. “But I’ve got nowt better to do today. I’ll stick aroun’, bb. I think I like it here.”

Tracey merely shrugged as he slid back towards the waiting room chair and took a seat, clapping as Harry did a Bart swings double push technique on the ice.

“A King is stanned!” the man exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

It wasn’t long before another patient walked in. This one painted from head-to-toe in blue, a peacock feather wreath on his head and a flower garland around his neck. He held an Indian flute to his mouth which emitted soft tones as he walked calmly over the ice and towards Tracey’s front desk. He paused in front of her, standing with one leg bent in front of the other. 

“I’m here to see--”

“Let me stop you right there,” Tracey said. “You won’t be seen today, you’re not dressed in the proper attire.”

The Krishna-lookalike stopped playing his flute for a moment to ask, “When can I be seen then?”

“Friday,” Harry said, skating over and coming to a graceful stop in front of him. “Friday is Deity Day.”

The Krishna-lookalike nodded in understanding before turning around and walking back towards the door. 

“Tarra, Krishna!” Warden said from his spot on the bench, waving goodbye.

Krishna finished his tune on the flute before turning towards him. “It’s Lord Krishna to you,” he said.

And with that, he walked out the door. 

“Blimey...I feel a kinship with him, and I don’t know why...” Warden said to himself, tugging on his mint green collar. 

Tracey stared at him for a moment, entranced by the colour herself. “Mint green looks amazing on you,” she said before shaking her head in confusion at her own words. She had no idea where that had come from, but she’d been unable to stop herself from saying them. 

Warden only smiled in response. “I feel remarkably pretty,” he said, nodding in agreement. 

Before Tracey could think on it any further, the front door opened yet again, causing her to let out a groan. 

What was it _now?_ Why on earth was it so busy today?

She hadn’t even had a chance to look up when a sudden cry of excitement rang throughout the room. 

“Zapalapadingdong!” Harry said, skating so quickly over to the door that he nearly crashed into the _Ajax’s Falsetto Voice Acting -- This C*nt works for you_ board. 

“Hi, Harry,” zapt said, holding his elbow tenderly. 

A boy that looked just like zapt walked in behind him, nudging the older man further inside. 

“Careful, son,” zapt said, holding him steady. “The floor is made of ice.”

“Why?” the boy said, with all the attitude of a 15-year old. 

_“Son?”_ Harry said, gleefully, skating between the two and placing his arms around both their shoulders. “I didn’t know you had a son, Zapercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”

The boy moved his head back to look up at Harry before sticking his hand out. “I’m zap apat Jr,” he said. “But you can call me Emp.”

“Empolololololology!” Harry said, leaning down to pinch his cheek. 

“Hey!” Emp said moving back so fast that he lost his footing on the ice. 

Warden got out his seat to help the boy up as Harry turned to zapt. 

“What seems to be the problem, mate?” Harry said, crossing his arms and giving zapt an attentive look. 

Tracey clicked her tongue loudly at his. “Oi!” she called out, causing everyone to turn and look at her. “He’s not following the theme, you can’t see him!”

Harry threw Tracey a disappointed look. “This isn’t just anyone, Tracey,” he said, shaking his head. “This is my good friend, Zapantidisestablishmentarianism. I’d see him no matter what he was wearing--no offence, Yorkshire-Fluff.”

Warden looked momentarily confused when everyone turned to look at him. “Oh, you talkin’ to uz?” he said, gesturing to himself. 

“Thanks, Harry,” zapt said, turning back towards him. “But I didn’t even want to bother you with this. Emp made me come in to see you.”

“He was being a stubborn idiot about it,” Emp said, rolling his eyes like the 15-year old he was. “His elbow’s been hurting.”

zapt sighed but nodded. “It’s the drawing I’ve been doing lately. I used Emp’s laptop to Google it. I think I have Artist Elbow.”

“Drawing?” Harry said with interest. “Ahhh, that’s right...I’d heard you’d left the PrimJax faucet business.”

zapt nodded. “They’re PrimJax LLC now,” he said. “There was no future for me there. No future for anyone there, if I’m being honest. I got out as soon as I could, and now I’m about to debut my art to the world at my exhibition next weekend. You got my flyer for it, yes?”

Tracey scoffed. “He’s been showing it to everyone for weeks. Even put it up on the boards,” she said, gesturing to the large advertisement behind Emp. 

With a shy smile, zapt clapped Harry on the back. “Thanks, it means a lot.”

“No problem at all, zapdichlorodiphenyltrichloroethane,” Harry said.

At this, zapt’s face turned serious. “Fuck you and your chemistry bullshit,” he said. 

Warden gasped. “That’s neya way to speak to a King!” 

“It’s cool, it’s cool,” Harry said, giving Yorkshire-Fluff a smile. “I was in the wrong. After all the chemistry memes I spammed him with. Now, let’s go get your Artist Elbow patched and mended, zapt.”

x-x-x

Harry placed his hands on the closest board and then kicked his right leg out to the side. He dropped his head and began doing an Active Groin Stretch. All this skating back and forth was a real workout for his muscles.

It was odd that Yorkshire-Fluff had dozed off on the bench but given the results of Harry’s diagnostic charms, he was suffering from acute fatigue. Following east-coast time while living in England had ruined his sleep schedule, it seemed. 

He stretched it, first to the right side and then the left. Keeping his head down and hands on top of the boards, he took a look at the advertisement contained within.

_Gwen’s Fanfiction Writing Mastercalss._

He blinked and made sure he’d read that right.

He had.

Well, that was a class he’d not be signing up for. Or better yet, signign up for.

Shifting his weight to the other leg, he stretched his left groin and took a peek at the next board. _Petri’s’ Self-Reacting Seminars -- Just Do It-- featuring A Gwen Mastercalss_.

Harry’s eyebrows rose. That lady was really Gwenning around.

He shifted back to stretch his right groin, almost moaning in relief, as he looked to the board beside it. 

_Gwen’s Masterclass on Acronyms_

Harry drew in his left leg and then took another step so he could read the smaller print.

_Smh - so much hate. BD - Before Discovery. AD - After Discovery. TP - Tal Promise_

He shook his head and wondered if the masterclasses were just a presentation of information that most would consider common sense. It was tough to know for sure. Hopefully, some poor sod would bite the bullet and buy them just to report back on how much of his money he’d wasted.

Just then, a patient pushed open the clinic doors wearing a remarkably fitting outfit.

He wore a blue helmet with the number 205 on it. Bright green framed glasses with clear inserts and a skin-tight black suit. On the suit was a white and red ellipse starting over his right breast and weaving around to his back on an angle, a big red maple leaf in the centre of it. The leggings were red with more maple leafs patterned down the sides. To top off the outfit were black boots with blades affixed to the bottom that were longer than the boot itself.

Harry smiled. He hadn’t expected someone to actually try and get into costume today. The gear was quite rare.

The man looked around at their redone clinic. He brought one foot up at a time and removed his skate guards before gliding across the ice to Tracey’s desk.

“Fill this out,” Tracey said, floating a clipboard so it bumped the front of his helmet.

“I cannot,” the Short-Track said. “I fell and broke my wrist.” He held up a wrist that had an unnatural bend in it.

“No form, no service.”

“Could you, maybe...help me fill it out?” he said, raising up his broken arm.

Harry blew his whistle and glided over, rapping his stopwatch on Short-Track’s helmet. “What are you doing on my track?” he said, barking out the words with authority. 

With his eyes still shut, the man put his finger in his ear and wriggled it around. “I was at St. Mungos when I ran into a guy dressed in a Sgt. Peppers uniform--though his shoes were pink instead of blue, which looked a bit ridiculous,” he said, running his fingers through his beard. “He told me that if I was dressed as a speed skater then I could be seen at The PIMMPLE straight away.”

Harry had chortled at the mention of Headphones-Hans. Guess _he_ wasn’t coming back. “Why are you in this getup anyway?” he said, focusing his attention back on Short-Track.

“I dress as one of my country’s Olympic heroes every fourth odd Wednesday of the month. So long as it’s sleeting, of course,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I was taking a twirl around the rink earlier and took a nasty fall.”

Taking in his suit once more, Harry frowned. “You’re Canadian?”

“French Canadian,” he said, nodding his head.

“Isn’t that...Canadian?” Harry said, quirking his eyebrow.

“I’m from Quebec.”

Harry waited for him to elaborate but the man’s mouth remained shut. He shot a look at Tracey who appeared as perplexed as he was.

“Who’s your hero, then?” Tracey said.

“Charles Hamelin,” he said, practically gushing.

“Who?” Harry said, knowing Tracey wouldn’t have any idea either. 

She hadn’t even known that Short-Track wasn’t dressed properly.

“The _five_ -time Olympic medalist and two-time World Champion, three times over!”

Harry shrugged. He had no idea there were speedskater fanboys in the world. Maybe it was a French Canadian thing? zapt hadn’t said anything about speedskaters being national heroes, had he?

“Well, I hate to break it to you but this is a clap-skate track only,” Harry said, staring down at the high ankle boot of the man’s short-track skates.

“But...the Sgt. Peppers guy said if I dressed as a speed skater, I’d get helped,” he said as he held up his broken wrist. “It’s just a simpl--”

With a disappointed sigh, Harry cut him off while shaking his head. “Listen...if it was a football-themed day, do you really think we’d let a Yank walk in here with his pigskin and just accept it?”

“Well, no...but I ju-”

“Then what makes you think you could come in here, _Short-Track,_ and skate around on my ice with an unhinged blade?!” Harry was leaning over the man, invading his personal space.

FWEEEEEEET! Harry blew his whistle and pointed at the door.

“But it’s just a quick char-”

FWEET! 

“My wrist, it-”

FWEEEEEEET!

“Please, it hurt-”

FWEEEEEEEEEET! 

“I can pa-”

FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!

Harry continued pointing at the door until the man finally got the message and skated out of the clinic.

He’d have to ask zapt if all French-Canadians were this annoying.

“We stan a mischievous king,” came Yorkshire-Fluff’s voice as he sat up from the bench and wiped his bleary eyes.

x-x-x

Harry let out a long sigh as he arrived at the clinic at 9:10 am the next morning. 

He had an odd feeling in his gut today that made him wary as he walked out of his office in search of Tracey. 

Today was Kilt Day. He’d come dressed in his outfit already--the knee-length, pleated, kilt in dark blue, black, and green tartan. He wore a black leather sporran that rested against his groin, long kilt hose, and ghillies which were surprisingly comfortable, yet fashionable Scottish traditional shoes. 

But the real treat was Tracey’s outfit, which he’d gone to great lengths to procure. He’d sent an owl to a good friend of his whose wife was Scottish and proceeded to ask him about women’s traditional dress. 

The result was the earasaid in Harry’s hands, otherwise known as ‘the woman’s great kilt’. An over garment that was basically a big rectangular cloth in the same tartan colours as Harry’s that reached from the neck to the heels. A belt separated the top and bottom half, the bottom flaring out as a long skirt. The top tied above the breast with a buckle in the front and a make-shift hood in the back.

If wearing this didn’t improve Tracey’s mood at once, he wasn’t sure what would. 

With a pleased smile, Harry made his way to the kitchen where he was confident he would find her. 

And indeed, just like yesterday, she was there, holding a cup of coffee in her hands. 

But unlike yesterday, she did not have a grin on her face. 

“I see you used your loophole again this morning,” Harry said carefully, noting the way she was clenching her jaw tight and gripping the cup so hard her knuckles were turning white. 

“Yes,” she hissed out. “I did. Woke up early to come in and make myself some coffee.”

Harry cleared his throat, disappointed that she hadn’t even commented on his amazing themed outfit. “And...is everything ok?”

As if the words themselves were a trigger, Tracey immediately slammed her cup down and took out her wand. “No, Harry, everything is _not_ okay!” she yelled, sliding the cup over to him on the counter and causing the remaining contents to spill over. “Taste it. Go on. _Taste it!”_

“I’m...I’m doing my de--”

“Oh, enough with the damn detox!” she said, drowning out his words. “Of course you choose this week of all weeks to do it. Why should you care about the state of my coffee when you’re doing your glorious _detox_ . To hell with you. And to hell with Hermione and her _bloody punishments!”_

With that, she drew her wand and waved it around haphazardly, causing all the cabinets to shoot open and the plates and cutlery to fly out and smash onto the floor. She then pointed it at the chairs and table, and Harry watched with eyes wide as they disintegrated into a pile of ash. She was just about to blast the recently fixed PrimJax faucets when a noise like a shot erupted in the room causing them both to snap their heads around. 

Lecture-Mode-HowlerTM

_Oh shit…_ Harry thought.

_TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:_

_I HAVE RECEIVED INTELLIGENCE THAT THE_ _POTTER INSTITUTE FOR MAGICAL AND MUNDANE PATHOLOGIES, LURGIES AND ENDOCRINOLOGY CLINIC, OTHERWISE KNOWN AS THE_ **_P-I-M-M-P-L-E_ ** _HAS BEEN VANDALISED ON THE DATE OF THE 17 OF JANUARY._

_THE SEVERITY OF THIS BREACH HAS RESULTED IN THE ACTIVATION OF STEP THREE OF THE_ **_P-I-M-M-P-L-E_ ** _’S PRECAUTIONARY OFFICE PROTECTIONS PROTOCOL INITIATION--NOW GUARANTEED (_ **_P-O-P-P-I-N-G_ ** _) IN WHICH_ **_P-I-M-M-P-L-E_ ** _EMPLOYEES ARE PUNISHED WITH A_ _PREARRANGED ULTIMATUM SYSTEM (_ **_P-U-S_ ** _). A_ _N ATTACK AND/OR VANDALISM HAS BEEN DETECTED. THE BARRICADE UTILIZATION RESPONSE-- SERIOUS THREAT (_ **_B-U-R-S-T_ ** _) WILL NOW BE ACTIVATED IN ORDER TO PROTECT THE_ **_P-I-M-M-P-L-E_ ** _EMPLOYEES. THE FACILITY WILL BE PUT INTO A 24-HOUR LOCKDOWN._

_AS THIS IS THE THIRD NOTICE THIS WEEK, ALLOW THIS TO SERVE AS A REMINDER THAT PUNCTUALITY, NOT THE INTENT OF--IS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE. PIGS WILL LEARN TO FLY BEFORE I ALLOW THIS DEGENERACY TO CONTINUE. AND JUST TO POINT OUT THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM, I AM AWARE OF THE ‘LOOPHOLE’ TO MY PREVIOUS PUNISHMENT AND HAVE SINCE ENSURED YOU WILL FIND THE COFFEE WHOLLY UNSATISFACTORY UNTIL I RETURN._

_PLEASE NOTE BOTH INTENT AND IMPORTANCE HAVE A LOWERCASE ‘i’._

_YOURS SINCERELY,_

_HERMIONE GRANGER-GIBBONS._

“Vandalism?” Tracy said, seething. “I’ll show you _vandalism_ , Hermione Jean Granger-Gibbons.” 

With that, Tracey stomped out of the room, plowing Harry on her way out with her shoulder.

He quickly followed after her and gulped as he saw her attempt to barge into Hermione’s office. 

The doorknob wouldn’t turn, and he wondered if that would put an end to it. But Tracey had other ideas, it seemed.

She stepped back from the door, levelled her wand at it and let out a powerful blasting curse. The door splintered apart at once, and Tracey pushed her way in through.

Harry could already hear a cacophony of noises emanating from within, and he braced himself before entering as well. 

Tracey was going to town. She was blasting apart the pictures, the graduation certificates, the bookends, and the little ornaments decorating the shelves and desk. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Harry sighed, waiting for the flurry of destruction to end. She was aiming for the desk itself now but he knew the next few spells would have no more effect than the previous ones. This particular piece of furniture wasn’t going to fall apart like cheap wood.

It had been a gift he’d bought Hermione to celebrate their first year of operation. She’d been using a horrible muggle thing from her parents, but he’d splurged and got the best magical desk Diagon Alley could supply. The thing was rock solid, and in the event of an emergency, the safest place would be inside of it.

“You done?” Harry asked, his voice curt, plucking the Beatles Theme Day photos that were thankfully still unharmed.

When he saw Tracey relax and drop her hands, he raised his wand and began to repair the whole room, including the splintered door. 

“If you wanted to do actual lasting harm, you’d have done something other than destroy things she could easily put back together in seconds.”

Tracey thrusted her hands onto her hips and glared at him. “Well, at least for those few seconds, she would’ve seen the damage!”

Harry shrugged. “Look, all I’m saying is...if you _really_ wanted to get back at her, you’d do it best by breaking into her desk,” he said, jutting his chin out toward it. “It’s supposed to be password protected but I’m sure a former Slytherin like yourself is cunning enough to do it.”

Huffing out a breath, she stomped over to the desk and began opening the drawers.

From the cursory glance Harry gave, the first one was only filled with office supplies. The second one had what looked to be medical files or research of some kind. And the third one didn’t seem to budge when Tracey tried to pull it open.

“Alohomora,” she said. Tracey tried the drawer again but it remained shut.

She let out a groan before trying a few more spells to no avail. “Great,” she said, kicking her foot against the drawer. “What now?”

Harry took out his new favourite toy, hoping it could bring them some good luck like Fleur said it would. Sir Baba Yetu was awesome. Harry let him down on the desk and watched as the knight dropped his visor and ran around yelling _‘I’ll solve you!’._

Bit of an odd battle cry, that. But, it was a gift from Fleur and, therefore, precious.

In a way, their current situation was akin to some of the issues that Fleur may have faced on her curse-breaking expeditions. They were stuck in a magical environment, they’d entered the beast’s lair and they were trying to get to the guarded treasure.

His eyes flicked over to Tracey, and he saw that she still wasn’t having any luck, muttering spell after spell, trying to get the blasted thing open.

It was after Sir Baba Yetu had taken another four passes with his visor lowered and lance down that Tracey finally spoke up.

“It’s some kind of code,” she said, her eyes flitting around the desk.

Harry followed her gaze and noticed that there were now dashes etched onto the wood. Almost as if they had to guess the passphrase.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“How on earth are we supposed to guess a passcode with this many spaces?” Tracey said, staring down at it with obvious frustration.

Harry scanned the rest of the desk and noticed something odd. A bit further up, a simplistic gallow appeared on the wood with a rope hanging down. He nudged Tracey with his elbow and pointed to it.

“Hangman?” she said.

“Looks like it.”

She clicked her tongue. “What are we, schoolchildren again?”

Letting out a small chuckle, he shrugged. “Well...we are breaking into our boss’s office.”

Tracey looked less than impressed at that response but turned her attention back to the desk. “Do we just guess a letter then?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

Harry tapped his wand on the top of the desk and a small red square appeared. “I’ll guess first, shall I?”

Not waiting for a response, Harry went for it. “X,” he said.

The blanks flashed for a second before the letter appeared off to the side of the dashes. A circle was then drawn under the gallows’ rope.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ X

“X?” Tracey said, giving Harry an annoyed look. “Of all the letters to choose? Don’t you _want_ to open this thing?”

Harry merely smiled. “Oh, we will. But I’m much more interested in figuring out what this desk is capable of,” he said, brushing his hand over the unblemished wood. 

Tracey raised an eyebrow before turning back to the puzzle. “Right, my turn, then,” she said. “A.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ A _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ X

“Only one ‘A’?!” she said, smacking her hand against the desk in frustration. 

Harry stared at her warily out of the corner of his eye, then set back to work. “Z.” 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ A _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ X Z

A line was drawn in, perpendicular to the top of the gallows, starting at the bottom of the circle.

Tracey let out another noise of discontent while Harry grinned. 

They continued on like this, Harry guessing the least likely options during his turns while Tracey attempted to actually solve the riddle, getting increasingly angry with every limb of the stick figure being drawn. 

S E E T H E T R A _ _ _ H _ _ H _ R O W T H E _ T X Z Q Y V

Harry rubbed the palms of his hands together. He thought ‘W’ would get the last leg drawn on but it hadn’t. “P,” he said.

S E E T H E T R A _ _ _ H _ _ H _ R O W T H E _ T X Z Q Y V P

Tracey kicked the desk chair into the wall as the last right leg was drawn onto the stick figure. “You just couldn’t let me solve it, could you?” she said, her voice ringing throughout the room. “You can guess wrong _anytime_ Hermione is or isn’t here but you had to choose right now?”

Harry put his well-honed skill of ignoring Tracey into practice as his eyes darted around the room, alert and ready for whatever defence mechanism had been triggered.

The result was rather anticlimactic but daunting just the same. He knew what it was the second the apparition took shape before him but it didn’t stop the twisting in his gut. 

It was Tracey. Or an exact likeness of her, sitting alone, staring out the window of what appeared to be a coffee shop with heavy rain pouring outside. Christmas decorations littered the walls of the empty shop. The only other person in the room walking over to Tracey with a small cake in her hands that Harry had to squint to read: 

_Merry Christmas to my nightly regular!_

As the woman walked closer, Harry recognized the face at once. It was Crinkly-Eyes, in all her annoying happiness and bright smiles, clearly trying to cheer up a depressed-looking, lonely Tracey.

Harry looked over at the real Tracey beside him and frowned as he saw her turn almost catatonic watching the apparition of herself. He’d seen this happening before, even Molly had fallen prey to it.

Stepping forward, he drew up his happiest memories--sunshine, a patio in Brazil, orange juice in hand, Gabrielle sitting across from him. He stepped in front of Tracey so he could become the focus of the Boggart’s attention, readying himself for the Dementor that was sure to come.

In an instant, the scene began to change. 

“Expecto Patronu-”

The words died in his mouth.

It wasn’t a Dementor. It was another scene. This time of himself, sitting in a private balcony in a large theatre. 

He recognized it as the one he’d been to with Ginny in Brazil. He was seated in the same chair he was in then, no orange juice in his empty glass, the seat beside him empty. Harry looked around and noted it was the same horrid ballet he’d watched with Ginny.

Merlin, he could see Pansy-Princess’ cankles even at this distance.

Harry furrowed his eyebrows as he watched himself. How he sat there, all alone, staring at his empty glass, not paying an iota of attention. But more than anything, it was the empty chair beside him that captivated him. Haunted him.

_Could he really not have found someone to go with to this two-bit performance? Not even his on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again one-time girlfriend?_

As he continued staring at the despairing scene, he heard the words that he should have uttered sound from somewhere to his left. 

“Ridikkulus,” Tracey said, her wand levelled at the apparition.

Immediately it changed. The ballerinas were dancing on llamas. Harry was dressed in mariachi outfit, hat included, strumming a guitar. The men in the audience were now wearing leave-nothing-to-the-imagination bikinis while the women were dressed as gladiators, clashing with their swords and spears, blood flying everywhere. 

Harry shook his head. Lupin would have been disappointed if he’d known Harry had gotten so affected by a Boggart. 

Quickly pulling out his wand, he banished the boggart back into the desk.

“Are you pleased?” Tracey said, pocketing her own wand with a grim look. “You know what the bloody desk does now.”

He cleared his throat, trying to dispel both boggart images from his mind. Though the magnitude of what they’d both just witnessed was hard to move on from. “Let’s just...let’s take a look at this, shall we?” he said, gesturing towards the hangman riddle. “It’s reset itself.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Tracey waved a small piece of paper in front of Harry. “Good thing I wrote it down as we were guessing,” she bit out, before rattling off the previous letters that had been successful.

S E E T H E T R A _ _ _ H _ _ H _ R O W T H E _ T 

“If you guess ‘X’ again,” Tracey said, levelling him with a menacing glare.

“No, no,” Harry said. “Let’s solve this, I want to figure out what’s next.”

Tracey nodded, then turned back to the riddle. “‘I’” she said, clearly. 

S E E T H E T R A _ I _ H I _ H _ R O W T H E _ T 

They both took a moment to study the letters. Harry was fairly certain he could solve it now, but he didn’t want to take any chances. “G,” he said. 

S E E T H E T R A G I _ H I G H _ R O W T H E _ T

“See the Tragic Highbrow Theft!” Tracey said at once, smiling victoriously. 

S E E T H E T R A G I C H I G H B R O W T H E F T

Just as Harry glanced down at the solved puzzle, another series of blanks showed up below it.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_“What?_ ” Tracey said, clapping her hand to her forehead. “Another bloody hangman?”

“Well...it’s certainly preferable to Devil’s Snare or making us play as human chess pieces,” Harry mumbled, frowning down at the desk. “Not that I’m brilliant at this either...”

He took a few seconds to consider the new dashes, noting something interesting. “There’s no gallow,” he said, tracing the empty space on the wood with his finger. “It’s not hangman…”

“What? Then what is it?” Tracey said.

Biting his lip, Harry flitted his gaze from the dashes to the phrase they’d just solved, noting that they were the same amount of letters. He stared so long at them, that he felt his eyes begin to cross. And it was at that moment, that he felt a shudder run through him as a memory flashed in his mind’s eye. 

The Chamber. _Tom Marvolo Riddle._

“Anagram,” he said quietly, his shoulders slumping. “It’s an anagram.”

_“What?_ Are you bloody kidding me?” Tracey said snapping her head towards him. “That’ll take us ages! It could be anything!”

Harry looked at Tracey in concern, noting the increased aggression she was displaying at every obstacle they were facing. Nothing seemed to be helping her mood. Not the outfits and decorations for Theme Week, not the breaking into Hermione’s office. In fact, if anything, she only seemed to be getting worse. It truly felt as if he’d reached a…

“Dead-end,” Tracey said, slumping back against the wall behind her. “We’ve reached a dead-end, Harry.”

_Dead-end._

The words echoed in his mind, recalling a memory from earlier that week.

_“Whenever I felt like I hit a dead-end, he’s always been surprisingly helpful.”_

Harry snatched up the Sir Baba toy at once and stared at him for a moment. “I need your help,” he said, unsure how to proceed. “Er...I need you to solve this!”

_“I’ll solve you!”_

Letting out his battle cry, Sir Baba Yetu courageously rode over and began to unweave the unsolvable anagram. Letter after letter was rearranged. It was as if the fog was being rolled away, a veil being lifted, one blank at a time. Until, finally he was done.

_The Brightest Witch of Her Age_

How could they not have seen it before?

Tracey shook her head. “He solved it,” she said, staring at the toy in wonder. “Bloody hell, that’s useful. Where did you get him?”

But before Harry could answer, the locked drawer to Hermione’s desk popped open with an audible _click_ causing Tracey to let out a small whoop of victory. 

They both knelt down at once, rifling through the objects on top. 

“What the hell are these?” Tracey said, picking up three squishy looking, deflated balls that were practically torn up from excessive use. 

Harry held back a smile. “Stress balls,” he said, plucking one from Tracey’s hand and tossing it in the air. “And they’ve definitely been used.”

“ _Over-_ used, I’d say,” Tracey said, tossing them behind her and looking back in the drawer. 

Harry gave an indifferent shrug and turned his attention back to the drawer. He reached in and grabbed the first item his fingers made contact with. It was tubular and made of glass.

Odd.

He withdrew his hand and looked at the bottle he’d just pulled out. 

_Ron Bacardí de Maestros de Ron, Vintage, MMXII_

He glanced at the dark liquid and passed it to Tracey. “Know what this is?”

Tracey held it up for a second before she pulled out her wand and uncorked it, immediately taking a swig. “Rum,” she said, after swallowing. “Really expensive rum.” 

She held the bottle out, tilting it towards Harry, but he shook his head. He was more curious about the contents of the drawer than the bottle. But when he reached in again, he only found another one.

Sighing, he took it out of the drawer and read the label: _50-year-old Appleton Estate, Jamaica Independence Reserve_.

“Oh good,” Tracey said, practically cheering. “I don’t have to share now!”

He reached in once more and got _another_ heavily used stress ball. He gently tossed the gentle ball with a gentle throw and it gently landed on the surface of the desk with a gentle noise.

While Harry was busy admiring his gently thrown gentle ball, Tracey stuck her arm in the drawer, her eyes lighting up at once.

“Ooooh, I get to double fist now!” she said, lifting up her prized trophy. “ _Louis Xiii by Remy Martin Cognac Brandy With_ _Exquisite Blend Of Up To 1,200 Grapes Eaux-de-vie Sourced 100% From Grande Champagne_ _.”_

Harry shook his head, feeling somewhat concerned that Hermione had a drawer filled with stress balls and expensive alcohol.

“How bout we make a game of this?” Tracey said, trying a sip of the Remy Martin Cognac Brandy. “You get two choices: pull an item or pick an _‘I have never’_ . If you’ve done whatever the ‘ _I have never’_ is, or if you pull something out that _isn’t_ a stress ball or bottle of alcohol, you drink.”

He considered this for a moment before nodding. “Let’s do it,” he said, sticking his arm into the bottomless drawer and pulling a leather bound book that he assumed was a planner. 

But upon closer inspection of the inside of the cover, he read the words: 

_Hermione Jean Granger-Gibbons -- A Memoir_

Tracey snorted aloud while taking another sip of brandy. “Drink up, Buttercup,” she said, patting him on the cheek. 

Raising an eyebrow at her, Harry grabbed one of the many bottles littered on the floor and untwisted the expensive-looking stopper. He took a sip and gestured for Tracey to go. 

“Ooooh, my turn,” she said, practically lighting up with glee. Her forehead creased as she took a moment to debate her next move. “I got one. I have never...had a crush on my best friend of the opposite sex who I also happen to co-own a business with, at any point in my life.”

Harry made a disgusted face and gagged. “Absolutely not true for me,” he said, pushing the bottle away from him. “I have _never_ thought of Hermione that way. That’d be like incest!

Tracey practically giggled. “No, it wouldn’t,” she said, pushing his shoulder lightly, her hand lingering on his arm. “You have _four_ different parents and _eight_ different grandparents. It’s not even close. Nothing like Crabbe and Goyle and they turned out alright...ish.”

“Ish being the operative word,” Harry said. “But let’s move on from this repulsive subject, please.” 

He stuck his arm into the drawer once more, this time coming into contact with what felt like multiple polaroid photos. Frowning in curiosity, he picked them up and flipped them over before letting out a startled yell and throwing them towards Tracey. 

“What the--” Tracey said, picking one up. 

With a roaring laugh that sounded like a donkey, she shoved the photo back in Harry’s face. “Maybe I should hit _that.”_

“Ack!” he cried out, rubbing at his eyes. “I can’t unsee it!” He reached for the closest bottle and chugged some down, hoping the alcohol would dull his memory.

It had been a photograph of Ron wearing a stetson hat, bolo tie, cow-print and jean shirt, pink leopard-print cowboy boots, and horrifying, disgusting, atrocious _ass-less chaps._

The image would be burned in his mind’s eye forevermore. 

He didn’t bother looking through the rest of the polaroids, too afraid of what else he’d find. “Just go, please,” he said, taking another drink to try and forget. 

“Huh...not what I was expecting,” she said, looking more closely at the photo. “But anyway...my turn. I have never...come across a _mighty basilisk_ that required two hands before.”

Harry frowned at that but picked up the bottle to take a drink.

“Oh, Merlin,” Tracey said, her eyes practically bulging out of her sockets. “Who was it? Krum? I’ve heard great things about _his_ basilisk.”

“Er... _what?_ ” Harry said, blinking before realization hit him like a ton of bricks. “Wait...I’m not gay, I only meant I killed Salazar Slytherin’s basilisk!”

She took another long pull even though it wasn’t her turn. “Oh, you dirty, dirty, boy,” she said. “Grabbing those basilisks.”

At this, Harry gritted his teeth. “Maybe you should lay off that a bit,” he said, taking the bottle from her hands. 

Her eyes flared in response, and she wasted no time grabbing the brandy instead. “New game,” she said. 

“Er…” Harry said. “Okay?”

“Gay lists!” she said, clapping her hands together. “Name a list of people you would bang if you were attracted to your own sex.”

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples, wondering how they’d even gotten here. He was at least pleased to note that Tracey’s mood was significantly improved. The alcohol had certainly helped, of course. But perhaps these little games had an impact as well. “Fine, but...you go first.”

Tracey shrugged. “Sure,” she said, beginning to list off on her fingers: “Daphne, Hermione, Susan, both Patil twins...at once. Ginny, Cho. Alicia, Katie, Angelina...again all at once. Imagine those three together, eh? And...who else…”

His eyes widened. “There’s more?”

She nodded as if it were obvious. “Ah, Rosmerta from the Three Broomsticks, Gwenog Jones...and a young McGonagall,” she said. “Well...any McGonagall.”

Harry took a drink at that, preferring to be drunk for this conversation. 

“Your turn.”

“I...I don’t think I have anyone,” he said with a shrug. “Blokes just don’t do it for me.”

Huffing out a breath, Tracey gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes. “There isn’t a _single_ bloke that you find handsome?”

He looked up at the ceiling and took a moment to think. “Erm...well, I suppose there is one… He’s sort of...ruggedly handsome, now that you mention it?”

Getting up on her knees, Tracey practically fell into him as she grabbed his shoulders. “Who?” she demanded. “Tell me!”

Silence followed for a few seconds before Harry finally blurted it out:

“Bill Weasley.”

“Eyyyy,” Tracey said, picking up her bottle and clinking it with his. “Now that is a fine specimen. _Hard agree_.”

Harry gave a reluctant nod. “It’s the dragon fang earring and long hair,” he found himself saying before he could filter the words coming out of his mouth.

“Fleur’s been on my list since she stepped off the carriage,” Tracey said, staring off, seemingly lost in a memory. “I’d have taken a run at either of them if I had the chance.”

“Sounds like you’d have taken a run at just about anyone if you had the chance,” Harry said, looking her up and down with a frown. "I really thought you were a lesbian, you know? I guess this means you’re bi...?" 

Tracey waved a dismissive hand and then took another hit of her drink. "I'm more of a go-for-whatever-I-fancy-at-the-time kind of gal."

Harry stared at his nearly empty bottle and burped. "So… you’re hetero with lesbian tendencies when you’re drunk?”

“I’m hetero with _everything_ tendencies when I’m drunk,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him and leaning in to tug on his collar. 

Raising an eyebrow, he chugged the remainder of his rum, his eyes on Tracey the entire time. Her gaze fixed on his lips.

“Say, Harry...are you a _real_ Scotsman?” she said, her voice taking on a tone Harry had never heard before as she bobbed her head in the direction of his kilt.

“Am I a what?”

Tracey let out a harumph and reached forward with her hand. In a single swift motion, she pulled the end of his kilt up, lifting it to his chest.

“Whoop!” she said, giggling as she fell ungracefully on top of him. “Guess you are.”

Before Harry realized what was happening, Tracey’s lips were on his, her hand groping up his leg and underneath his sporran. 

One bottle in and much too drunk to think this through properly, Harry merely let things play out. It had been so long since he had been with anyone after all. 

There’d be a time to worry about this but that time would be later. For now, he mentally shrugged and enjoyed himself. 

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“And you’re sure you waited long enough in the floo?” Ginny said, arms crossed. “What if he was in the shower?”

Fleur shook her head as she brought her wand out to unlock the front door of the PIMMPLE, the rest of the Weasley clan standing behind her in various states of concern. “Non,” she said. “I _did_ wait long enough, and I checked his house--including the shower. He wasn’t anywhere. He promised me he’d be at Ginny’s announcement dinner today.”

“How is it that even his lack of presence takes the spotlight from me?” Ginny muttered.

Molly shushed her and turned back to Fleur. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to quickly check. There’s no harm delaying Ginny’s big announcement to make sure Harry is okay.”

Everyone nodded and after unlocking the door, Fleur led them through the waiting room. 

She frowned curiously at the odd decor, her children running past, excited to explore the transformed room. They darted towards the bagpipes, snare drum, and bass setup in one corner, playing music as though by an invisible band. A sheaf toss resting against the wall. 

“Is that a sheaf toss?” George said in surprise. “I’ve always wanted to have a go at one. Can’t be much different then gnome tossing with the garden hoe.”

Angelina was off to the side, looking at the display to his left. “What are those 20 foot long wooden beams?” she said curiously, walking over to run her hand along the sizeable yet still smooth shaft.

“Cabers,” Arthur said, reaching out to handle one himself. “Used in Highland Games for competitive throwing. It’s said they used the long, straight, thick logs to toss. Narrow chasms didn’t always have a bridge back in the day. Ah, and look what we have here! These two heavy balls are used for stone put. Bit like the muggle shot put, except well...with all-natural-stones!”

“What’s shot put?” Ron said.

Fleur waved a dismissive hand and gestured for everyone to follow her into the back corridor to continue their search for Harry. She strode over to the sheaf toss and plucked the pitchfork from Dominique before she could hurt her brother or sister with it, silencing any protest with a stern look of disapproval.

Various shouts of “Harry!” rang throughout as multiple heads peeked into each room down the corridor. 

“Blimey, what happened in here?” Ron said, pointing towards the kitchen. 

Everyone crowded around the doorway to see what he was referring to, Molly letting out a loud gasp. 

“It looks like there was an explosion. Like The PIMMPLE...popped,” Bill said, running his hand across the scorch marks on the wall before pulling his wand out. With his face set in a serious line, he turned back around, his eyes catching Fleur’s before darting to their kids. “Everyone, stand back, we need to check for intruders.”

Fleur frowned, ushering the children back, as Bill began casting various enchantments. Her eyes darted to Hermione’s office which was slightly ajar. Harry had mentioned that she was heading up the Climax Conference at the moment. 

_Why would she have left her office unlocked?_

She looked away for a moment before turning back, surprised to see the door shut now. Before she could question it, though, she felt a sharp jab to her leg and cast her eyes down to the ground where the toy, Sir Baba, was poking her with his lance. 

Fleur knelt down at once. “What is it, Sir?” she said, furrowing her eyebrows. “Lead the way.”

He gave a single nod before galloping towards Hermione’s office, Fleur following behind him. 

She pushed open the door and rushed in, bracing herself for whatever destruction she’d find in here and praying that Harry was okay. 

But whatever she had expected, it definitely had not been this. 

“Have you seen my shirt?” Harry mumbled to a figure on the floor. 

The desk was obscuring the rest of the person’s body, and Fleur couldn’t make out who it was.

Hermione, perhaps? But no….Harry would never be in this state of undress with his sister. The very thought left a horrible taste in Fleur’s mouth. 

Before she could make her presence known, however, Victoire slipped past her legs and beelined straight for Harry.

“UNCLE HARRY!” the little girl squealed, throwing her arms and legs around him in a hug.

He snapped his head towards the doorway where the entire Weasley family was standing behind Fleur, poking their heads in. He was currently shirtless with only a kilt tied haphazardly around his waist, his niece hanging onto his leg. Tracey Davis, his receptionist, had scrambled into a sitting position, rushing to tie what looked like a tartan blanket around herself. 

“Erm… What are you lot doing here?” he said, summoning his shirt, or what was left of it. It had clearly been torn off of him and left in more than one piece.

Fleur raised her delicate eyebrow. “What are we doing here?” she said, her hands perched on her hips. “What are _you_ doing here? I said take better care of yourself, not jump into the bed of the next woman you see!”

Harry blinked and then rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t even manage a word as both Dominique and Louis came darting in the room as well, barrelling right into him. Bending down, he picked them all up in a bare-chested hug and squeezed them tight as they giggled in his arms. 

As he placed them back down, he began to look somewhat flustered, his eyes searching the room. Fleur watched as his gaze lit up for a moment, and he scooped up three squishy balls from the ground. 

“Here, toss these around,” he said with a soft smile. “There’s loads of them littered around the room.” 

They immediately scattered about, collecting all the squishy balls. Victoire tossed one up and caught it. Dom threw one across the room at Hermione’s bookshelves. And Louis walked around with a big smile on his face, trying to fit as many in his little arms as he could.

“Well?” Fleur said, her arms crossed as she impatiently tapped her foot, all the while keeping a close eye on her rambunctious children as they ran rampant throughout the room.

Harry’s gaze darted between her and Tracey. “It’s not what it looks like, okay?” 

Fleur raised an eyebrow and then gestured at Tracey, who had used the time everyone was distracted to do some quick work to make herself look presentable in polite company. “No? Then what is it like?”

“Do you mind if we take this elsewhere, please?” Harry said with a sigh of frustration. “Perhaps somewhere away from young ears?”

Without a second’s hesitation, Fleur cast a charm to muffle the conversation from her children’s ears. “There,” she said, pocketing her wand. “Now they won’t be able to listen in.”

At this point, Tracey stood up and pressed her palms to the desk, everyone’s attention shooting to her. “Look, as much as I’d love to meet the in-laws, this was just sex,” she said before clenching her jaw. “A one-night-stand, a quick fuck-and-chuck, a root-n-boot.”

Fleur’s eyes darted to Harry, who was frowning and tapping his chin with his forefinger.

“Huh...not what I was expecting,” he said with a contemplative look.

“You skipped my big announcement dinner for this?” Ginny said, piping up from the doorway, her arms crossed. The ‘ _for her’_ was left unsaid.

Harry turned to look at her. “The dinner was for you?” he said, blinking. “I had wondered why it was on a Thursday.”

An airborne stress ball hit Ginny on the side of the head, followed by soft giggles in the corner of the room.

Tracey rounded on Harry. “Hold on...what did you mean, ‘not what you are expecting’?” she said, through gritted teeth. “What exactly _were_ you expecting? That we’d get together after this? We’d make a _terrrrrrible_ couple, fighting all the time, getting at each other’s throats.”

Harry nodded. “True,” he said, sounding as if he was considering it for the first time. “Though the make-up sex might make it worth it.”

_“Merlin, yeah,”_ Angelina said before clamping her hand over her mouth, looking mortified.

George wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Nice one, babe,” he said, pulling her into a one-armed hug.

She turned to her husband. “I just said what we were all thinking.”

Fleur flicked her hair behind her shoulder. “Anyway,” she said, wanting to reign the conversation back in. “You were saying that this isn’t what it looks like, Harry?” 

He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay… It _is_ what it looks like,” he said, somehow still managing to feign innocence. “But contrary to what Hemione believes, Intent is of the utmost Importance. And it definitely applies here.”

Everyone in the room quieted down and nodded their heads, except for Ron.

“What’s so important about intent?”

George immediately smacked Ron in the back of the head.

“What was that for?” Ron said, rubbing the spot with a wince.

Bill cleared his throat. “It’s Intent, dickhead,” he said as if he were scolding one of his children. “And Intent is _always_ of the utmost Importance.”

Harry bobbed his head in agreement. “And in this case, my _Intent_ for sleeping with Tracey was for medical reasons.”

Before Fleur could reply, a ‘thud’ drew everyone's attention. Another stress ball had been intercepted, mid-throw, by Tracey’s head. It fell onto the desk and rolled in front of her.

Snatching it up, Tracey cocked her arm back and flung it at Harry’s head. “ _Medical_ reasons?” she said, practically hissing the words.

Harry craned his neck to the right, letting the ball whiz past his head. A quiet ‘ _oomf’_ was heard from behind him, and he turned to see Ginny clutching her neck, a small circular red mark visible on her throat.

“Well, it _was_ just a root-n-boot, like you said…” Harry said, picking the conversation back up.

“You did say that, dear,” Molly said, shushing Ginny as she began coughing. 

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Tracey reached in front of her and plucked another stress ball out of the air, mid-flight. She chucked it at him again, this time aiming for the spot where his sporran should have been.

As if by reflex, Harry brought his knee up and turned his hips, ensuring the ball hit his thigh instead. His eyes followed the ball as it fell to the floor before they darted back and forth between it and Tracey.

“Anyway...this all started because Tracey was upset that Hermione made her cancel her vacation. Which was fair enough,” Harry said, looking from Tracey to Fleur. “But as the week went on, I began noticing an interesting pattern arise. Instead of adapting to the situation, Tracey’s mood actually worsened, followed by extreme fluctuations in her emotions and magic that couldn’t be attributed to her missed vacation alone. 

“Were you using your bloody machines to monitor me? Tracey said, looking outraged. 

“Well, yes, but I had to improvise a bit with the costumes and decorations I made for Theme Week. Why do you think I was the one to provide everything?” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t have let me monitor your magic if you could help it. Plus, I was hoping the silliness of it all would help improve your mood a bit.”

At this, her eyes narrowed. “Wait, wait, wait,” she said, putting her hands up. “You’re telling me you dressed me up all week so you could run tests on me?”

Harry gave a careless shrug. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Theme week?” Fleur spoke up, turning to look at Harry. 

He nodded in enthusiasm. “We’ve had Beatles Day, Long Track Speedskating Day, Kilt Day, and tomorrow was supposed to be Deity Day, but, well...we may not need to continue now.”

“Hold on,” Bill said before Harry could continue his thought. “You’ve dressed up and decorated the clinic all week with these idiotic themes? When did you find the time to actually see patients, you know...do your bloody job?”

“I...didn’t,” Harry said, giving Bill a perplexed look.

Everyone turned to look at Harry.

“So you didn’t see _any_ patients this week?” Fleur said with a disappointed look. 

“No no, I definitely did,” Harry said. “zapt’s son, (Emp) zap apat Jr. brought zapt in to see me, and I, of course, treated him despite his lack of speedskating attire. I had to. With a serious case of Artist’s Elbow like that? I couldn’t not treat my true friend.”

A cough that sounded suspiciously like ‘dickhead’ came from Bill’s direction of the room. 

Looking around at everyone, he finally put two and two together. “Ah, I should probably mention that I couldn’t let any patients in beyond the waiting room,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because Tracey would wander about the clinic, I had to set up the equipment all around so it captured everything in the office.”

“But...weren’t you in the rest of the office too?” Ron said tentatively.

Harry gave him a sympathetic look. “My monitoring equipment has been specifically wired to cancel out my own magical signature.”

“So you _were_ doing your job all week then?” Fleur said, sighing in relief as she uncrossed her arms. 

He nodded.

“I was worried, Harry,” she said, her blue eyes radiating concern. “You’d missed dinner and it sounded like you had been skiving off work. Did you follow through with the detox, as well?”

At this, Tracey slammed her fist on the desk and glowered at Fleur. “ _You’re_ the reason he gave up coffee?” she said, flaring her nostrils.

“Well, of course,” Fleur said, jutting her chin out. “I care about him. I just want him to be happy and healthy.”

Tracey only rolled her eyes as Fleur made her way to a still shirtless Harry and wrapped him up in a fierce hug. 

“I’m so proud of you,” she said into his ear. “And I know Gabby would be, too.” 

She was about to add more but an obnoxious, loud gagging noise cut her off. 

“Sorry, I have a bit of a _phlegm_ problem,” Tracey said with an overly-sweet tone. “Harry, if you’ve moved on from _medicinally_ sleeping with me, I’ll leave you to this floozy.” With that, she snatched the ball Victoire and Dominique had been passing back and forth and flung it straight at Harry’s face.

Dodging his head to the left this time, Harry neatly avoided the throw. But a loud slapping noise followed by a fit of coughing sounded from behind him, and Fleur looked to see Ginny rubbing her throat tenderly as the ball bounced away from her. 

Still trying to breathe normally, Ginny coughed up some phlegm and leant forward to spit it out, launching it onto Hermione’s desk. “Fleur’s his sister,” she said to Tracey after clearing her throat. “You know that, right?”

After making a gagging noise, Tracey coughed up a larger bit of phlegm and spit it out onto the desk next to Ginny’s. “Oh, I’ve seen him with his sister, and he’s nothing like _that_ with Hermione.”

Victoire, Dom, and Louis poked their heads up, staring between Tracey and Ginny before making their way to Hermione’s desk. Fleur cringed as she saw them start to cough up their own spit. Louis scooped up his as it dangled from his chin, and then put it back in his mouth before spitting it out again.

_“Anyway,”_ Harry called out, bare-chested and wearing naught but a kilt, still being hugged by Fleur. “Let me finish explaining why I banged Tracey for medical reasons.”

Everyone’s attention snapped to him, at once.

“See, I knew there was something wrong with her. Tracey gets upset, but when she does, she always takes it out on the patients,” he said, adjusting his kilt, now that Fleur had released her grip on him. “So I began my testing and noticed that _something_ was amplifying her emotional Intent.”

Tracey stared at him, her jaw slowly lowering. “Amplifying? _How?_ ” she said, almost hysterically. “You mean like...when I was fantasizing about your arse in the speedskating suit, it was my magic more than anything?”

Harry tilted his head, considering the thought. “Well...it would only amplify what you were already feeling.”

At this, Angelina piped up. “Oh, Harry’s arse is fantastic. We used to love watching him chase after the snitch in practice for that very reason. _Especially_ when it rained,” she said, sighing wistfully as George nodded in agreement. “Katie most of all...”

Ginny cleared her throat again. “Look…can we get on with this, please?” she said, her nostrils flaring. “I’m supposed to be announcing something at dinner, you know…”

“The whole Beauxbatons delegation heard about it, too,” Fleur said, nodding at Angelina. “Imagine our disappointment when we found out quidditch was cancelled that year.”

Molly gave Fleur a comforting one-armed hug as Arthur placed a hand of solidarity on her back. 

“That was the only reason most of Slytherin came to watch,” Tracey added, a faraway look in her eye. “It sure wasn’t to see the house team make a mockery of things, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Hey, Mum, remember the first task of the Triwizard Tournament?” Bill said, turning to Molly with a fond look. “I came to watch the dragons...but Harry’s arse stole the show.”

Harry hummed in assent, smiling good-naturedly as George clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Ooooh,” Ron said, smacking his own forehead. “I always wondered why the Gryffindor matches had double the attendance… It all makes sense now!”

Ginny opened her mouth to add something but a stress ball ricocheted off the desk and straight into it, stuffing it full.

“Anyway, like I was saying,” Harry said, garnering everyone’s attention once more. “Tracey was supposed to go on a laycation but it got cancelled. At first, I thought her unstable mood was due to PMS but it’s clear it was an emotional-amplification of her sexual-frustration.”

Bill chortled. “She’s been rather... _frustrated_ since we’ve been here,” he said, a smug grin forming on his lips. “Are you that bad of a lay, Harry?”

“No,” Harry and Molly said at the same time.

Everyone turned to look at Molly.

“What?” she said, looking all innocent. “Based on the noises we used to hear coming out of Ginny’s bedroom, Harry could put his godfather to shame.” 

Arthur shifted his hand of solidarity from Fleur’s back to his wife’s as he nodded in agreement.

At this, everyone’s attention finally shot to Ginny who was busy fending off Dominique and Victorie’s barrage of stress balls.

Doing a quick mental check on each child, Fleur noticed Louis hadn’t joined his sisters. She scanned the room, grimacing when she spotted her son. Louis was halfway through stuffing his hand in his mouth, the _gobs_ of the phlegm missing from Hermione’s desk, a trail of wet streaks leading towards him.

“Well?” George said, looking at Ginny. 

Noticing she was the centre of attention for the first time, Ginny glared at them all. “Oh, of course you’re all paying attention to me now because it has to do with Harry,” she said before sighing, a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “He’s the furthest from a bad lay there is, okay? It’s the only reason we’ve been on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again, on-again, off-again lovers all this time.”

Tracey dropped two bottles onto the desk with a heavy thud. She opened the closer one and then paused, having brought the bottle halfway to her lips. “She’s got to have them in here somewhere...” she said before putting her hand back in Hermione’s desk drawer and rummaging around. “Aha!” 

Pulling her arm back out, Tracey held up two shot-glasses in hand. She filled them both before sliding one to Ginny and raising hers in a toast.

“Here’s to Harry...the best lay of our lives,” Tracey said before tilting back her head and slamming the shot.

Fleur summoned the two empty shot-glasses the moment they landed back on the desk and cast a cleaning charm on them. She then locked eyes with Angelina who nodded, taking the now full glass that Fleur handed to her.

“Cheers,” Angelina said. “We’ll drink to that.”

“Oi!” George said, prodding his wife’s shoulder. “Thought you said you hadn’t shagged him.”

Angelina rolled her eyes. “I haven’t,” she said. “But we’ve heard details before. _Lots_ of details.”

Having noticed people’s attention turned to her, Fleur shrugged and smiled brightly. “Gabby wasn’t shy.”

Bill put his hand on her shoulder. “And I’m thankful _that_ isn’t a regular conversation at dinner anymore,” he said, shaking his head.

_“Anyway,”_ Harry said for perhaps the fourth time that evening. “Back to Tracey’s case...something was amplifying her emotional Intent, like I said. And while I thought it was the PMS at first, I noticed she was growing further and further unmoored from her norm. Which was when I realized that, as always, when things are wrong at PIMPPLE, Hermione is to blame.”

“Blame Hermione,” everyone in the room said in unison.

“Naturally,” Harry said, dipping his chin. “This time it was because she refused to replace the malfunctioning coffee maker. Every time Tracey made coffee with it, she would grow more agitated, erratic, and unmoored.”

Bill raised an eyebrow at that. “How do you know it was from the coffee-maker?” he said, staring at Harry as if he was mad. “I’ve never heard of a faulty household appliance messing with your magic.”

At this point, Arthur stepped forward from behind Molly. “I’ve seen this before,” he said, his face full of consternation. “When a muggle item spends too long in the presence of magic, it can have hazardous magical side-effects.”

Harry clasped him on the shoulder. “Exactly,” he said, giving him a warm look. “When Hermione enchanted her PIMPPLE POPPING PUS BURST protocols, she imbued too much magic into the coffee maker which had a nasty magical side-effect, like Arthur was saying. Caffeine is a stimulant which already amplifies chemicals in the body such as adrenaline and cortisol. When magic is added into the equation, it throws off the homeostasis completely. Leading to an overproduction of chemicals and overstimulation of emotional Intent.”

“Well, if you shagged her stupid, shouldn’t that have fixed the problem?” Ron piped up. “I thought she just wanted to go on her laycation?”

Harry turned to Tracey, everyone’s eyes following his. “You wouldn’t have been satisfied with just one root-n-boot on your laycation, would you?’

“Of course not,” she said, crossing her arms. “It was supposed to be a laycation, not a lay _day._ ”

He bobbed his head. “Just as I thought,” he said, looking back at Ron. “Until she’s been well and properly plowed _or_ the effects of Hermione’s tainted coffee work out of her system, Tracey will continue being agitated, erratic, and unmoored.”

With a soft gasp, Molly stepped forward. “Harry, weren’t you supposed to be going on your vacation to Brazil tomorrow?” she said in a suggestive tone.

Grinning, Harry looked over to Tracey. “Why, yes, Molly,” he said. “Yes, indeed.”

Fleur saw Angelina nudge George and whisper something in his ear to which his eyes lit up at once.

The next thing they knew, the two shot glasses on the desk were quickly multiplying. Angelina charmed the bottles to pour into each one as the room erupted in a sudden series of loud whizzes and bangs. 

“ _Are you bloody kidding me right now?”_ Ginny said, peeling off a photo of Ron that had flown directly into her face from the resulting blast. _“Fireworks, again? Why?”_

George shrugged as Angelina handed out glasses to everyone. “The possibility of you and Harry being in one room? Of course I had to bring fireworks. _As well as…_ ”

With a wave of his wand, a giant banner appeared reading _“Happy National Kilt Day!”_ that George levitated to hang on the wall of Hermione’s now scorched office, fireworks continuing to erupt around them. 

Several people coughed up phlegm from the smoke that was quickly filling the small space, and they proceeded to spit it up onto Hermione’s desk.

“How the _hell_ did you have that banner ready?” Ginny practically screamed as Louis came running at her with two fistfuls of newly-acquired phlegm raised over his head. 

Now a foot away, he flung them at her, laughing hysterically at his accomplishment, her dress now covered in splodges of phlegm.

“I’ve wanted him to stop bringing that thing around him everywhere for _ages_ ,” Angelina said with an exasperated shake of her head. “He’s had it since the order for National Kilt Day got cancelled.”

George shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “I knew it would come in handy someday.”

Everyone nodded in understanding. 

“Well, I know Tracey and I definitely worked up an appetite today,” Harry said, looking around at everyone with a large grin. “How about we all go back to the Burrow for some dinner, eh?”

Fleur felt a small body crash into her. Looking down, she saw Louis put his arms up, waving them around. She bent down and picked him up, holding her cute boy on her hip.

“I can’t! Not _now,_ ” Ginny said, practically screeching as she held her dress off her body. There were multiple splotches, wet spots and brownish-yellow smears on it from the phlegm debris. “My dress is ruined, I’ll have to go home to change it.”

Fleur ruffled Louis’ hair and hugged him. “Oh, you silly boy.”

“Tracey, dear,” Molly said, putting a hand on her arm. “Did you want to join us for dinner, too? There’s an empty space now that Ginny won’t be joining us for her announcement dinner.”

With a few seconds of careful consideration, Tracey glanced at Harry before giving a definitive nod. “Yeah, alright.”

With that, loud cheers rang throughout the room as everyone followed the soon-to-be-week-long lovers out of Hermione’s now decrepit office and back to the Burrow. 

“Oh! Shouldn’t you put a sign up that says the clinic will be closed tomorrow?” Fleur said, bouncing her giggling son in her arms.

Harry stopped in his tracks. “Huh, we probably should,” he said looking at Tracey.

She gave a nonchalant shrug, “Sure, put something up, sis.”

Fleur pinched her lips together before she summoned a piece of parchment. She took out her trusty quill, penned a sign and attached a business card before placing it on the front door and locking up.

_Closed for Laycation! For all emergencies contact Hermione Jean Granger-Gibbons._

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

“So this was just for this week, right?” Harry said, taking a sip of his heavenly chilled but not too cold orange juice.

“Oh, of course,” Tracey said as if it were obvious, scrunching up her nose up at Harry’s drink. “By the way, does your friend over there always change the sheets while you’re still in the room?”

Harry looked up to where she was pointing and winked at Brazilian Beta. “Oh, yeah. He’s Overly Helpful, that one,” he said. “Always waits five minutes after the shower is on to change them. He knows what I get up to in bed all day whenever I bring a girl to Brazil with me.”

“I hope it doesn’t bother you,” said an Argentinian-Portuguese accented voice behind Tracey’s ear causing her to jump in her chair and spill her glass of orange juice. 

She looked up to see Brazilian Beta holding out a new glass for her. “Drink up,” he said. 

Giving him a weird look, Tracey shook her head.

“You’re not going to be weird about this at the clinic, are you?” Harry said, continuing the conversation without missing a beat.

She snorted in response. “It’ll be weird regardless, Harry,” she said, taking a sip of OJ and gagging. “What with the clinic expanding and everything.”

Harry frowned at that. “Expanding?” 

Tracey rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you co-owner of the place? How do you not know about this?”

Humming in thought, Harry shrugged. “Hermione may have mentioned it to me the other day when she was prattling on for about 20 minutes in my office after the workday had ended,” he said, shaking his head. “Not that I listen to a word she says when she gets into Lecture-Mode™.”

With a snort, Tracey brought her glass up to clink with Harry’s. “Cheers, I’ll drink to that.”

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Author’s Note:

Firstly, we’d like to blame Nauze for his failure to assist STS in their many multi-faceted projects, including but not limited to FFN, AO3, STS discord. If only you’d recognized and helped with the charades along, this chapter would have been out last year.

Secondly, we’d like to thank Petrificus Somewhatus for not using his finely-honed detective skills to guess that STS was lying about being on hiatus while actually working on a brand new HH chapter. We sprinkled many clues throughout the server(s), and frankly, we are so pleased that your intellect failed you. You truly are _The_ Golden God.

Thirdly, we’d like to blame Gab for being French Canadian and ensuring we know too much about the people with ridiculous French accents that inhabit Quebec. STS has taken note of your Short-Track prowess and ensured future SalTal sponsored Sports Days will incorporate in-line speed skating events.

Fourthly, we’d like to thank Peverell for his deep, velvety, rich, soothing, German-accented voice. STS HR has taken it upon themselves to record and use your voice in future Mindfulness and Meditation seminars for their employees. Please see our STS lawyers for any questions or concerns about your royalties, of which you have none.

Fifthly, we’d like to blame Warden for running on an east coast sleep schedule while living in North England. We’d also like to blame you for stanning SalTal. Our heads have gotten entirely too inflated at this point, but bb we look fantastic. Signed, your King and Queen.

Sixthly, we’d like to thank the entire Fluffy Gang for just being you! You are all doing amazing, sweeties! 

As always, 

Stay class, Euclanites! 

  
  
  



	8. Outtake 2

**A/N:** It’s your boy Petrificus Somewhatus, back with my second outtake installment, once again featuring the true protagonist of this story, Hermione Granger-Gibbons. This outtake takes place over the same time period as the prior chapter,  _ Theme Week _ .

For anyone concerned after my prior author’s note, I want to assure you that the situation in Eucla has improved significantly. I’m now receiving three meals  _ and  _ a cracker dessert almost every day. The night traumas, for the most part, have also ceased, and I am fairly confident that I will actually get paid in 2021.

Thanks to Nauze, Saliient91and Taliesin19 for the beta, and an additional thanks to Sal/Tal for graciously removing the majority of the shackles. Those things were really starting to chafe.

**Climax, Saskatchewan**

**Conference Eve**

Hermione felt contentment wash over her as she entered the hotel bar. Over the years, the Climax Conference had become an annual oasis away from the infantile behavior she was subjected to at the clinic the rest of the year. Here she was surrounded by like-minded people, dedicated to actually improving…and learning…and being non-lazy non-morons. No one here was having contests to see who could stick the most cotton balls in their mouths, or how many pencils they could stick in the ceiling, or changing the coffee station supply labels to entirely inappropriate phrases with accompanying illustrations. 

She’d spent the last few hours networking and spreading the word about the clinic’s expansion plans, and based on the near universal excitement, it was clear that big things were in store for P.I.M.M.P.L.E. Unlike Harry, who had barely paid attention when she’d laid out the program, these people actually cared and were interested! Harry’s reputation from the war, and more importantly, his ability to solve so many seemingly unsolvable magical maladies had spread throughout the world. If the planned expansion was as successful as her most conservative financial projections promised, she could cut an additional five years off of her retirement plan.

She was in such a good mood; even the notification that the infants hadn’t opened the clinic on time had barely fazed her. She smiled, imagining the infants’ faces when they realized they wouldn’t have access to the coffee maker. It was good to be Climaxing again. 

Hermione settled into her now familiar seat and smiled as the bartender handed over her Shirley Temple. Since her first drunken night at the conference several years ago, Hermione had vowed to never imbibe during a professional gathering ever again. While the night in question had been utterly brilliant and inimitably satisfying, it was imperative that such a thing could and should never happen again, especially amongst her peers. 

As Hermione sampled her fruity concoction, she allowed herself to recall that amazing evening; the night those years of pent-up and repressed desires were unleashed in a frenzied onslaught of feverish lovemaking. Over the years she had always scoffed at the idiots who said that she and Harry were like siblings. She knew if they ever came together, that the experience would be the polar opposite of what most of the fools had predicted and, as usual, her hypothesis had been spot on. It had been somewhat weird…but it had been the best kind of weird. Having such a monumental event happen in a city named ‘Climax’ seemed utterly appropriate, as the pair had visited that particular  _ location _ multiple times during the evening. 

So. Many. Times. 

Hermione had felt a measure of sympathy for the maid who had to clean their room the next day because of the copious amounts of bodily fluids strewn about their hotel room. By the time they had collapsed in exhaustion, it was a veritable Harry/Hermione dribblepalooza.  _ Like a sister _ , indeed.

When she’d awoken the next morning in a hung-over daze, Harry’s elbow nearly pushing her off the bed in an unconscious attempt to inhabit the entire space, Hermione had her first inkling that she had made an incalculable error in judgment. And after listening to Harry’s constant whinging during the subsequent day, it became clear that the prior evening had been a mistake. His list of complaints was numerous and never-ending; the conference was boring…the coffee wasn’t as good as Tracey’s…he was tired and wanted to go back to their room and sleep…the off-white paint on the conference room walls was slightly  _ off _ , etc. The list went on…and on…and on. 

While the prior evening had been amazing, it was clear to her that it would have to be a one-off. She and Harry were too different and their foibles annoyed each other too much already. The sex, amazing as it had been, would complicate their already bizarre dynamic to untenable levels, and the paradigm shift would be too monumental to weather. By midday she had made up her mind that a talk with Harry over supper was necessary. This could never happen again. 

The final presentation of that day, however, convinced her that more drastic measures needed to be taken. While the majority of the presentation, focused on the potential of ritual magic, and specifically on the theories of the legendary Canadian wizard Cadavar Canuck, had been very compelling, the presenter’s seemingly quick, uninformed dismissal of Focus had grated on her nerves. She knew it was her own insecurities at play but it felt like the speaker was specifically targeting her for no apparent reason. As compelling as the bulk of the man’s presentation had been, she couldn’t stop focusing on how hurtful his casual dismissal of her and her myriad accomplishments had been. 

Harry had picked up on her annoyance and, of course, instead of trying to ease her insecurities, piled on further. She’d never managed to have her planned ‘talk’ over supper because Harry wouldn’t shut up about how brilliant the presentation was and how spot on the presenter had been about Focus. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Harry stepped up the attack once he realized how well his plan was working. She was then barraged with what felt like a million references to ‘Intent’ and its never-ending ‘Importance’. 

Harry’s comments that evening had been more cutting than usual and Hermione realized that he had been emboldened to dig the knife deeper than ever because they had recently taken their relationship to an entirely different level. Or perhaps she was simply more sensitive now that they had been so intimate. But whatever the reason, to preserve their personal and business relationship, she knew that drastic action would be necessary…much more severe and unequivocal than her planned ‘talk’. 

The events of the prior evening needed to be wiped from Harry’s memory banks and he needed to find the idea of sleeping with her repulsive to ensure she would never be tempted to make such a mistake again.

It had been a simple thing in the end. She’d had ample experience from wiping her parents’ memories and compelling them to move Down Under during the war. She simply waited for Harry to fall asleep after letting him slide it in one final time, wiped his memories, and then cast several compulsion charms to ensure that the boy would never want to venture  _ down under _ with her ever again. Compelling him to immediately think of the word ‘sister’ whenever her name was mentioned as a potential romantic partner had been a particularly inspired choice in her humble opinion. 

There was a moment where she had felt a twinge of guilt as she pondered the myriad ethical lines she was crossing, but then an image of Harry’s smug expression as he cheerfully opined on Daffy Dumbass flashed in her mind, silencing any moral qualms that remained. She felt the devil on her shoulder, whispering in her ear in a voice bearing a remarkable resemblance to Bill Weasley. 

“It’s the only way,” Devil Bill advised, “he’s already an absolute dickhead, and now that you’ve slept with him he’ll be the Master of Dickheads.” Despite Devil Bill’s odd turn of phrase, he was absolutely right. 

She was broken out of what her therapist referred to as ‘Harry spiralling’ by a friendly voice. “Hermione Granger-Gibbons?” It was the presenter from that fateful afternoon a few years ago. 

“Yes,” she said, plastering on a false smile. She prayed that the man had forgotten the politely scathing comment card she had left outlining the specific issues she’d had with his presentation.

“I finally tracked you down!” he enthused before grabbing a nearby chair and taking a seat. “I wanted to talk to you about the review you left a few years back.”

So much for ignoring the elephant in the room.

“About that,” she began, “I was in a bit of a bad place that day and I’m afraid I took it out on you. Most of your presentation was quite fascinating,” she answered honestly.

The man laughed and waved off her apology. “Not a problem, you actually gave me a lot to think about.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. While the man did not forget, unlike some people, he did forgive.

“I convinced you that Focus is important?” she asked, enthused that she’d gained another convert.

“Not really, no,” he answered with a shrug. “I just don’t get it. At all. I’m Halcyon by the way. Halcyon Riverlaw. But you can call me Hal.” Apparently, wizards’ having ridiculous names wasn’t exclusive to England.

“Can you excuse me for one second?” Halycon asked before walking to the bar and ordering a beer. She watched as Halycon poked a hole near the bottom of the can and placed his mouth over the opening. Within seconds, he had popped the top of the can and literally inhaled its entire contents. He quickly returned to his seat as if nothing abnormal had occurred.

“Where were we?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, but what just happened?” Hermione asked, struggling to remain moored.

Halcyon frowned as he gestured toward a nearby muggle telly showing a sporting event. “It’s a Canada thing. Whenever the dumb hockey player scores a dumb goal for your dumb team you’re supposed to shotgun a beer. Hockey is so dumb and has some really dumb traditions, but the law is the law.”

“You don’t seem too excited about it,” she observed.

“Hockey is fine, I  _ suppose _ , even if it is a bit basic. It’s a nice distraction while I wait for Canada’s real team, the heart and soul of the country, to resume again in the spring.” 

Halcyon now seemed giddy, ecstatic even, at the change in topic.

“Canada’s team?” she asked.

Hal stood up and turned so he was now facing away from her. “Check it out,” he commanded, pride evident in his voice, as he pointed with his thumbs to the emblem on the back of his jacket. 

It was a picture of a large red maple leaf with the head of a blue bird in the center. 

“Pretty badass, right? It’s the Toronto Blue Jays. The greatest team in the world, located in the greatest city in Canada.”

A nearby patron of the bar overheard the proclamation and shouted “Toronto! Fuck yeah!” before immediately engaging in a complex series of high fives with Hal. After several minutes the pair concluded their machinations, and Hal took his seat once again. It appeared to Hermione that everyone in Canada absolutely loved Toronto.

Although the recent happenings had unmoored her slightly, Hermione did her best not to show it. “So you’re from Toronto?”

“I wish,” Hal grumbled. “Anyway, enough about me, what questions do  _ you _ have about Toronto?”

  
  


**Day One**

Hermione sipped her virgin daiquiri and did her best not to focus on the poor attendance at her seminar that morning. She knew that it was a hard sell to get people enthused about the financial and psychological benefits of a magically organized kitchen space in the workplace, but she had foolishly hoped for more. It was by no means the end of the world though. 

The presentation had been a means to an end; a chance to become more comfortable at speaking in front of a crowd on a minor topic before she blew the Wizarding World away in a few years. When she presented her findings on Focus the last thing she wanted was to stumble over her words. Before she could learn to fly she needed to learn how to walk, and from that perspective, her presentation had been a massive success.  _ Focus on the Focus _ , she repeated in her mind. 

There had been one other bright spot. Her new friend Hal had made a point of attending and had even commented that it was ‘not bad’ and ‘somewhat compelling’. Muted praise aside, the fact that her friend had made the effort for her warmed her heart. Even though they had just met and his opinions on  her Focus were ignorant and wrong, Hal showed that he was a true friend. After he’d gotten the Toronto talk out of his system last night, Hal had turned out, Focus opinions aside, to be quite calm and engaging. They’d hit it off so well that they agreed to meet for dinner the next night. 

She spotted him entering the restaurant and gasped as she realized that Hal was not alone. He was accompanied by HER…the woman whose research on defying death had revolutionized the field of study related to Octogenarian Charms (OC’s). The seismic impact of _Grow Young With Magic,_ known more commonly by the acronym _GYWM_ , was almost as well known as Dummy SnakeInTheGrass’ work on intent. And if the woman ever actually managed to complete her study, it had the potential to eclipse Crapne’s efforts. Maybe. Hermione had been entranced with the woman’s work since she’d stumbled upon it years before, only finding fault with the title. It was clear to Hermione that _Live Forever_ would have been a much more compelling and apt title for the study.

“You’re-“ 

“Genre definer Valyriie Walchorn at your service,” the woman interrupted as she extended a hand in greeting. “Only joking!” the woman continued before Hermione could utter a word. “I’m not that egotistical to say such things about myself. Or am I?”

“What?” Hermione finally managed, suddenly unmoored by the odd exchange.

“You can call me Val,” she continued as Hal set the armful of beers he was holding down on the table.

“Vancouver’s defense is shit. Just getting prepared,” he supplied as she heard “Goal!” ring out in her periphery.

“Here we go,” Hal mumbled as he picked up a can and rapidly downed its contents.

“Anyway,” Val interjected, “Hal said your presentation on the Intent of Kitchen organization was modestly engaging. Congratulations!”

Hermione bit back on the insult she wanted to levy at the woman. Using the ‘i’ word was obviously an innocent mistake, right? The woman seemed so nice and sweet. Surely Val wasn’t purposely trying to annoy her.

“It was actually focused on the benefits of Focus related to the Kitchen space and its positive impact on the myriad factors at play,” Hermione replied.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Val said, looking very innocent and sweet. Hermione wasn’t sure why but it didn’t quite sound sincere. It was probably her imagination.

Hal shot his friend an annoyed look. “ _ Someone  _ promised that they would go to your presentation with me but they were nowhere to be found this morning.”

“Anyway,” Val interjected, “what are we drinking?”

Before Hermione could answer, Val had reached over and taken a sip of her daiquiri.

“They forgot to put the alcohol in your drink. But don’t worry, we can get that sorted in a giffy,” Val said as she waved for the waiter.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” Hermione reassured, ignoring the odd way that Val had pronounced ‘jiffy’. “I make it a point not to drink at professional gatherings.”

Before Val could respond, Hal shouted “For fucks sake, eh!” and shot-gunned another beer. Apparently Vancouver had sacrificed another goal.

“Aww, come on,” Val cajoled adorably, ignoring Hal’s outburst. “One little drink isn’t going to hurt anything. Besides, you have Hal and me to make sure you behave yourself. We’re very responsible and mature.” 

Val began nodding her head, apparently agreeing with her own statement. It was a bizarre self-reaction, but Hermione found it oddly endearing and earned.

Normally, such an attempt would have never worked. Hermione was simply too strong willed and stubborn to be talked into doing anything irresponsible or foolish, but Val looked so gosh darn sincere.

“I suppose one wouldn’t hurt,” she blurted unthinkingly.

“Excellent,” Val replied as she rubbed her hands together in triumph. The grin now adorning Val’s face seemed slightly predatory and just a tad bit evil, but Hermione was sure it was nothing.

“Shots! Shots! Shots!” Val chanted as she began pounding on the table. 

“Wait,” Hermione replied unmooredly. “I just want something mild…some wine perhaps. Not a shot, and most definitely not multiple shots.” 

“Of course,” Val answered as she laid a reassuring hand on her arm. “A nice glass of wine sounds lovely, right after we take an itty bitty shot to get the ball rolling. Don’t worry. You can trust me.”

Every fiber of her logical being was screaming that this woman shouldn’t be trusted in any way…but her likeability was off the charts! And GYWM was so sweet and endearing! Hermione was sure everything would be fine.

“All right,” she acquiesced, “but no tequila.”

Val recommenced her chant and Hermione found herself, for reasons she couldn’t quite identify, joining in as well. What the hell was happening? Forget being unmoored…the entire damn dock seemed to have been dislodged from the shore.

She heard a loud crunch and realized that Hal had smashed his third empty can flat using his forehead before placing it on top of his head. 

“Hat trick,” he supplied in explanation. Val nodded in understanding.

  
  


**Day Two**

As she took a bite of her sandwich, Hermione silently thanked the potioneer that had devised the hangover cure. After the copious amount of alcohol she had consumed the evening prior, there was no reality where any food, magical or otherwise, would have remained in her stomach otherwise. 

The prior evening was a blur as she could only remember brief snatches of the time spent with her new friends; Hal and Val convincing her to charm a sign to say “Ask me about Orange Juice!” and pinning it on the back of an unsuspecting person sitting a few tables over, Hal’s dissertation on Tim Horton’s coffee, Val opining on the untapped erotic potential of graveyards and alarm clocks. 

It had been a stupid evening…very, very stupid…but it had been fun. The most fun she’d had in ages.

And now, not only was she suffering no ill effects from her alcoholic indulgence, she was actually energized from the surprise presentation that had just concluded, presided over by Hal and Val, or Hal-Val Productions as they referred to themselves. 

Their discussion on magical bonds, Focusing specifically on Veela and Soul Bonds, was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Some of it…a lot of it…made no sense, and at times seemed a bit mean spirited, but they had expertly conveyed the impact on love and devotion related to magical bonds in a ridiculous yet effective way. 

They had thanked a bloke in the States that had looked over their work and offered some crucial suggestions as well. While Hal and Val had expressed their mild appreciation for the man, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that this person…this god among men….deserved more praise. 

Much, much, much more. 

Apparently she hadn’t been alone in being impressed, as the audience let out a collective roar of appreciation when HVP announced that they would be presenting a follow up session the next morning. Hermione could not wait to see how they built and expanded on everything they had established in Part 1. Perhaps they would speak on bonds borne out of magical oaths…a much more interesting and compelling subject in her opinion.

She was broken out of her musings as her two new friends plopped down at her table.

“Well?” Hal blurted, “What did you think?”

“I thought it was brilliant,” she enthused honestly, “It was the Toronto Blue Jays of magical presentations!”

Apparently she had said the magic words as Hal began repeatedly chanting “Joe Carter” and commenced high-fiving nearby diners, while Val stood and began doing the dance commonly referred to as ‘the robot’. After several minutes, they both composed themselves and sat back down.

“Sorry about that, but we always react that way when we are really happy or excited,” Hal supplied.

“So, it’s like a signature reaction?”

Hal and Val nodded in understanding.

Hermione thought such a thing was a brilliant idea. Whoever came up with that idea was a genius.

“Anyway,” Val began, “I can’t believe that you didn’t pick up on all the hints we were dropping last night!”

“Hints?” she replied in confusion. As drunk as she was she couldn’t remember any mentions, subtle or otherwise, regarding what they had planned.

Hal and Val immediately started giggling like schoolgirls. “We dropped so many clues!” Hal exclaimed. “Remember when I asked you if you were looking forward to the next day’s sessions?”

“Yes.”

“And I said something about the conference rooms?” Val supplied.

“And then I mentioned how fascinating I thought glue was?” Hal continued before she could answer. “I thought for sure that you would make the connection between glue and bonds…and then would deduce that Val and I would be presenting a detailed examination on Veela and Soul Bonds. It was so obvious!”

Val nodded enthusiastically in understanding.

Hermione was quite certain that no rational human being could have inferred anything from those exceedingly vague bits of information, but her friends looked so pleased with themselves that she couldn’t bring herself to verbalize it. “Amazing,” she praised falsely.

Once again it appeared that she had said the magic words as Hal began beat-boxing in excitement. Val immediately bounded from her seat and started popping and locking along to the beat. 

A chant of “Go Val! Go Val! Go Val!” broke out from a nearby table. Hal conjured a square piece of cardboard, which Val used to perform an elaborate set of break dance moves. How many signature reactions did her friends have?

As she finished up her dance, folding her arms across her chest and striking the classic hip-hop pose, Val nodded in thanks to the table that had cheered her on. In unison the entire table began weeping, clearly overwhelmed at being acknowledged by THE Valyriie Walchorn.

Hermione was still absorbing everything that had happened as Hal and Val took their seats once again.

“So, what looks good?” Hal asked dully as he began to peruse the menu.

Before she could answer, she felt her wand vibrate due to the reminder spell she had cast hours before. She frowned, realizing that she still needed to address the infants’ latest transgression.

“What’s wrong?” Val asked.

“It’s nothing. My colleagues at the clinic goof off when I’m not there, so I’ve set up monitoring charms to make sure they are actually working. They closed the clinic two minutes early yesterday and I-

Her explanation was interrupted as Hal and Val audibly gasped at her words. “That’s awful!” Hal exclaimed. “What are you going to do about it?”

Hermione shrugged. “I’ll probably just let it go. It’s only two minutes and I already disabled the coffee maker after they were late in opening up the other-“

Once again she was interrupted by the vociferous and panicked wheezing of her friends. “This is their second transgression in as many days?” Hal asked in horror.

“Well, yes. But it’s only two minutes. No harm-“

“Do you think the Toronto Blue Jays, the greatest team in all of sport, would have won their unprecedented two championships with that attitude? If they walked off the field two minutes early every game the other team would be able to score at will!” Hal interjected passionately as he jumped up from his seat and began executing a series of Active Groin Stretches, most likely in an effort to calm himself.

Hermione bit back on the urge to point out that winning two championships didn’t sound that impressive and such a feat had most certainly been surpassed by many other teams. And his analogy was severely flawed on several levels. But Hal looked furious and she had no desire to add fuel to the fire. 

“What do you suggest?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Val replied. “You have to make them shit on the floor.”

It was a patently absurd and utterly disgusting idea. Under any other circumstance, she would have thought it was a joke and severely judged anyone who suggested such a thing. But Val looked so sincere and so gosh darn likable. Maybe the idea had some merit.

She gazed at the earnest face of her friend and found herself unconsciously nodding in agreement.

As Val began performing the Running Man in celebration, Hermione composed her Howler. As she dictated out her message she did her best to ignore the niggling sense of dread forming in her stomach. One more violation would automatically invoke a shutdown of the clinic, and making Harry and Tracey have to vanish their own feces seemed like it would most definitely provoke at least one of them to act out in retaliation. 

She hesitated as her wand hovered over the envelope, awaiting her final tap of approval so it could be on its way. Perhaps this was a mistake. 

“You’re doing great, sweetie,” Val reassured as she moon-walked to the buffet line. 

“Be like Prince Fielder and swing for the fences, Hermione,” Hal encouraged as he pantomimed the swinging of a baseball bat before trotting around the dining area as if he’d hit a home run.

_ What’s the worst that could happen? _ Hermione mused as she activated the Howler with a tap. She was sure everything would be fine.

**Day Three**

Hermione stared at her lunch, her stomach roiling as she tried to fathom what had transpired over the last few hours. She’d watched as the audience at HVP’s follow up seminar were virtually bouncing in their seats in anticipation of what was to come. It was clear to Hermione that she hadn’t been alone in her excitement to see how the brilliant minds of Hal and Val would build on the brilliant foundation that they had brilliantly established. 

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Hermione watched as the audience seemed to go through all the stages of grief as Hal and Val systematically and brutally destroyed everything they had created the day prior, going so far as to make fun of and insult their own established  characters  theories. 

In theory, this could have been fine, if there had been a point to it. But as hard as she tried, Hermione couldn’t find any logical reason beyond the fact that Hal and Val thought it would be funny. Their incessant cackling and howls of delight were a clear indication that, unlike the thoroughly unmoored attendees, Hal and Val considered  _ Part 2  _ to be a rousing success. 

But HVP’s follow up presentation wasn’t what had left her so unsettled. What she found disconcerting was how much she personally enjoyed watching them make their admirers suffer. With every audience member that sprinted toward the exit, Hermione’s own grin grew wider. Were her new friends awful? Did it make her a bad person that she enjoyed how awful they were? If she was honest with herself, she loved every awful minute of it. 

Her only criticism was it lacked the polish of the first installment and included, entirely too many, unnecessary, pauses. When Hal-Val mentioned that they had cruelly cast aside their prior collaborator, opting instead to work with Hal’s spouse, everything was made clear. As brilliant as Hal and Val were, it was obvious that their genius paled in comparison to the handsome linchpin that had shepherded the first installment to unparalleled glory. 

As she dug into her meal, she couldn’t stop thinking about this mysterious man in the States. She wondered if he loved The Beatles as much as she did…if Paul was his favorite…if he did the entirely normal thing of preparing spreadsheets ranking their discographies. She wished she could see his album rankings.

Her musings on American Adonis were interrupted as Hal and Val sat down at her table, both holding a stack of comment cards, presumably from the session that had just ended. Hermione assumed that they would not be pretty.

“So what did you think?” Hal asked.

“Uhh…it was not what I was expecting,” she answered as politely as possible.

Her response caused Val to donkey laugh as Sal began celebrating with another shot-gunned beer. Classic signature reactions.

“So, did you enjoy the ballet last night?” Hermione asked, desperate to change the topic of conversation. She had seen the ballet company a few months prior and was curious what Hal/Val thought of their performance.

Hal looked at Val in annoyance. “ _ Someone _ promised to go with me but backed out at the last minute.”

Val looked thoroughly unashamed, offering nothing more than an unconcerned shrug of her shoulders.

It was clear to Hermione that Val had not been a very good friend to Hal, again, but as much as she tried, she couldn’t manage to be annoyed with the woman. She was just so likable, gosh darn it.

“Oooh, I almost forgot!” Val exclaimed in excitement, pulling out a smaller stack of comment cards from her pants pocket. “I watched the recording of your kitchen management seminar. Great stuff! I even wrote down a few comments,” she enthused, handing over the cards.

“Wow, really? Thank you!” Hermione replied honestly.

“It’s what friends do,” Val answered with a warm smile.

“Anyway,” Hal ploughed forward, “I thought the performance was somewhat interesting.”

“Really?” Hermione asked. “I saw them in London and thought they were amazing.”

“Somewhat interesting…amazing…same thing basically,” Hal replied, looking thoroughly and unabashedly serious. “I thought the Russian dancer stole the show if I’m being honest. She was clearly head and shoulders above the others.”

“She was fine, I _suppose,”_ Hermione replied, “her cankles were somewhat distracting. I preferred the French paramour, and the blonde dancer was quite excellent as well. Her icy, stoic demeanor was very intriguing.”

“I’M SURE SHE IS JUST BIG BONED AND SHE STOLE THE SHOW!” Hal suddenly screamed, drawing confused stares from the patrons seated nearby.

“Calm down. I thought Natasha-“

“HER NAME IS NATALIA!” Hal interjected angrily before forcing himself to calm. “Her name is Natalia,” he repeated in a much quieter voice.

“Sorry for going all  _ Dave Steib _ on you there,” Hal said, clearly embarrassed by his outburst. I can’t explain it, but for some reason I really, really, really, prefer Natalia over the other two you mentioned. For me, she’s the John Olerud of ballet dancers.”

“Anyway,” Val said, “any word from the Infantile Englanders?”

“Nice,” Hal said before high-fiving Val.

“So far, so good,” Hermione replied. “No more notifications.”

“See? Nothing to worry about. Locking the bathrooms and forcing your employees to shit on the floor is standard HR protocol. Everyone knows that.”

Not for the first time, Hermione could not believe the absurd nonsense being spoken by the creator of GYWM.

**Day Four**

Hermione could not believe she had forced Harry and Tracey to shit on the floor. Not that they didn’t deserve it, she’d meant every word of her Howler, but as expected, the children had lashed out, and the Level 3 lockdown had been automatically initiated, placing the clinic on lockdown. 

She’d hoped to relax and enjoy the final morning session of the conference, but all she could do was think about what nonsense awaited her upon her return to England. She had planned on rescheduling her international portkey and spending a few days in Toronto to, as Hal described it, soak up the ‘quintessential Canada experience,’ but that option was gone. She needed to return to London and deal with the ‘time-out’ that her children had been placed in as soon as possible. She’d even purchased that stupid absurdly expensive coffee maker that Tracey and Harry droned on about constantly as penance for her disciplinary overreach.

As annoyed and worried as she was, Hermione was really looking forward to the closing discussion of the conference. She wasn’t sure how the organizers had managed it, but they had somehow convinced Draco Malfoy to give a talk about everything that had transpired at PrimJax. The intent of the talk was to inform other professionals of what NOT to do if they wanted to be successful. Just as Harry’s reputation had crossed the ocean, PrimJax had become synonymous around the world for mismanagement and under-perfomance…Incompetence with a capital ‘I’. Getting to listen to Malfoy squirm and own up to his mistakes for ninety minutes would be a wonderful distraction before her trip back to England.

While Hal had risen early and joined her for breakfast, Val was nowhere to be found. They had saved her a seat, but as the minutes passed, Hermione wondered if this would be another in a long line of broken Val promises. As if on cue, Val plopped down into the seat beside her, drawing an annoyed roll of the eyes from Hal. “You are such a George Bell,” he mumbled in frustration. 

“Morning!” Val greeted them with a bright smile, ignoring Hal’s comment completely.

“Good morning,” Hermione greeted, doing her best to plaster on a smile.

“What’s wrong?” Val asked.

“Hermione’s husband and the other lady didn’t take too kindly to her punishment,” Hal supplied. “She’s headed home right after this to deal with the aftermath.”

“Really?” Val replied. “I guess that wasn’t very good advice. Sorry about that!” she supplied, her lip jutting out in a pout.

Hermione knew she should be mad…Hal and Val had convinced her to make Harry and Tracey shit on the floor! That was an insane thing to do! But as the girl stared at her, her eyes filled with regret and unabashed sorrow, Hermione’s heart melted.

“It’s fine,” she replied. “Nothing I can’t handle. Incidentally, Harry and I aren’t a couple.”

“Really?” Hal replied. He seemed to be genuinely shocked at the news. “I remember reading some of the accounts of your adventures at school. The sexual chemistry between you two was off the charts.”

“No,” Hermione replied, doing her best to conceal her grin as that amazing night flashed in her mind once again, “Harry and I are just friends…more like brother and sister. I’m actually in a relationship with-“

“Oh, look!” Val interrupted, “they’re about to start.”

Hermione’s eyes flashed to the stage, anxious to watch Malfoy squirm. But unfortunately it wasn’t Malfoy who had approached the lectern; it was one of the people running the conference.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m sorry to inform you that Mr. Malfoy will not be speaking today. I suppose we should have expected this. Primjax has been nothing but a disappointment.”

The entire crowd nodded in understanding.

“But I have good news!” the man enthused. “We have a visitor from England who has graciously agreed to step in on short notice. It is impossible to state the scope and magnitude that her discoveries have had on the magical community, so I will keep my introduction short: Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the Golden Goddess, Daphne Greengrass!”

The profanity-laced tirade emanating out of Hermione’s mouth was drowned out by the ecstatic exultations of everyone around her, including Hal and Val. Hal was frantically grabbing anything and everything within arms reach and smashing it on his forehead while Val had started doing the cabbage patch up and down the aisle, high-fiving everyone she passed.

Traitors.

The sea of noise continued in full force for what felt like an eternity, only ceasing when the she-devil waved for the crowd to quiet. 

“Thank you for such a warm welcome,” the dumb dummy began, “now, I know most of you are expecting me to speak on Intent, but I’m afraid that won’t be happening this morning.”

As one the crowd audibly groaned, thoroughly destroyed at the news. It was clear that they were desperate for more Daphne Greengrass and the Importance of Intent. The Lice Queen held up her hands and the crowd instantly quieted. As devastated as they were at the news, they were still anxious to hear whatever pearls of wisdom the dummy was going to provide.

"My presentation today will focus on the most extraordinary bit of magic I have ever participated in...something I never would have thought possible when I began-“

Pfaffne stopped abruptly and shot the crowd a knowing smile. “Whoops. Wrong speech.”

The wave of uproarious laughter at Preencrass’ stupid joke was the final straw, and Hermione fought the urge to ‘Pettigrew’ the entire auditorium. She commenced with her breathing exercises and tried to focus on positive thoughts like her therapist had instructed. 

She slowly inhaled through her nose.  _ It can’t get any worse,  _ she repeated gently to herself before releasing the gentle breath gently through her mouth. Eventually the harpy’s voice broke through her meditations.

“I’d like to touch on a new topic today…something I will be speaking about in much greater breadth and depth in the near future.”

Dumb Dumb paused and waited for the excited _ oooh’s’ _ and  _ aaah’s _ to die down before continuing.

“As Important as Intent is, it is absolutely crucial that we as a magical community identify the areas that scholars have wasted years studying with nothing substantial to show for their efforts…the magical roads to nowhere. I’m speaking, of course, of the Fallacy of Focus.” 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Hermione muttered before apparating out of the auditorium and into the hotel bar. It was barely 9:30 in the morning but fuck it. She was in Canada after all. When in Rome…

FUDG FUDG FUDG FUDG

_ Gibby, _

_ Good news! I made it safely back to England! _

_ Bad news! I stopped by the clinic and the infants somehow managed to exceed the lowest of low expectations I had set for them in my absence. I’m going to be here a bit longer than I originally anticipated, cleaning up their mess. Could you send Ringo back with that book outlining how to clean up hazardous material? In addition to my office being coated in an inhuman amount of phlegm, the black-light charm yielded some truly disturbing results that need to be addressed as soon as possible. _

_ Anyway, you know the drill. Please prepare something yummy to eat and make sure there is plenty of wine at the ready, and don’t even think of using the H, T, DG ,or I words. And just to be safe, please try to avoid referring to anything even tangentially related to grass. Flowers, herbs, seeds,etc. Anything remotely horticultural is a no go for the foreseeable future. It’s probably best if you steer clear of mentioning any and all colors and hues as well, just to be safe. _

_ Hugs,  _

_ Hermie _

_ P.S. I suggest you switch from tea to coffee as your beverage of choice because I’m bringing home the nicest fucking coffee maker you have ever seen. _

FUD-G FU-DG FU-DG FU-DG

Author’s Note:  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of JK Rowling’s or Petri’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons on the STS Discord server, living or dead, or actual events on the previously referenced Discord server is purely coincidental. 

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
